


The Deepest Secret

by Wizards_Pupil



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action/Adventure, Cultural Differences, Elvish, Family Issues, First Time, Gardening, Hair Braiding, Historical, Homesickness, Khuzdul, Loneliness, M/M, Pining, Romance, Secrets, Smut, Traveling, Wealth, servitude
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-13 00:12:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 103,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2129742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wizards_Pupil/pseuds/Wizards_Pupil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo Baggins was a desperate Hobbit.</p><p>Well, he<i> was</i> several things. Short, funny, hungry, and tired for starts.  Desperate was at the forefront of his mind at the moment. </p><p>He would never be at Oakenshield Manor otherwise. Still, they needed a gardener, and as much as he <i>didn't</i> know about dwarves, he did know about plants.</p><p>Bilbo expected it to be difficult. Dwarves were hardly known to be the most accepting and open of races after all. He expected the garden to be in terrible shape, the dwarves to be loud, and secretive.</p><p>He could never have expected Thorin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

\-- E E Cummings

* * *

 

Bilbo Baggins was a desperate hobbit.

At least, that was how he felt standing before the gate to the giant stone house. Though naming it a ‘house’ was about as insulting as Bilbo could really get. The building was in no way a simple ‘house.’ It was a mammoth structure that would have covered several hobbit holes. the land it sat on was larger than the entirety of Hobbiton!

It was a gloomy place though. The trees were unkempt and dark in front of the gate. They had gone quite wild and their scraggly limbs seemed to stand guard. Threatening any who would dare to even think of entering their domain. The gates were made of iron. A dark and imposing style curled out in the shape of runes that he could not read. The tops spiked up, discouraging anyone from attempting to climb.

The grounds themselves were tended with basic perfunctory. The grass was short, but not well done. The bushes were trimmed improperly, and what could have been a beautiful flower bed was pruned far too short.

It made his hobbit heartache. He wanted to find a trowel, some water, dirt, and a bit of fertilizer and put all the ignorantly abused plants to right. They needed love. It was as simple as that.

The house itself was made of stone. It was a green granite that made it look dark and foreboding. Like a giant sitting atop a hill and judging anyone who came near it. It was carved with geometrical shapes, all with sharp and harsh edges.

So entirely different from the Shire. It was not a terribly inviting place. It has no roundness like hobbit holes, and was missing in the warmth of laughter and friends talking merrily with each other. It was cold and isolate. The green was abused, and there was no evidence of any one even living in the area. There was nothing he adored and cherished from his home evident in his new residence.

But he had to go in. He’d already wasted ten minutes just standing at the gate and shifting from one foot to the other. It was chilly out, the sun had set hours earlier and taken the spring-time warmth with it. His coat and scarf were doing very little against the wind.

Bilbo clutched the papers in his hands to his chest and rubbed the back of one foot against his other nervously. It was a simple ad, but it had instantly caught his attention and hope.

Because Bilbo was a desperate hobbit.

He needed a job. Badly. He’d lost all he had to illness and hate. He had to find a means to support himself, and there was very little he had to offer.

A green thumb was at the head of the list. His mother had built a beautiful garden behind their hobbit hole. She had filled it with plants of all kinds, and taught Bilbo everything she knew very diligently. He could grow plants to eat, for aesthetics, and for medicinal use. He was gifted at arranging them to look pleasing, and could bring life back to the most desloate of plants.

Which was why he was clutching the simple ad in his hand. It was just a call for a garden for the magnificent manor. The salary was very good, and he had all the needed qualifications.

He just had to actually enter Oakenshield manor. He had, in no way, expected it to be a difficult thing to do.

Yet there was nothing for it. He had to go in because there was no where else to go. Desperation left little in the way of options. He’d met a few dwarves in his lifetime, and they were far easier to work with than Men or elves. Both their races would not take him seriously. They saw him as nothing but a child.

They wouldn’t see that he’d left childhood behind long ago.

Bilbo put his foot back on the ground, put the papers in his pocket, adjusted his meager pack of belongings, and grabbed hold of the gate. He pushed it open with one hard shove, and took back up his walking stick. Two steps saw him through the gate and into the courtyard.

He was on his way.

The next step was far easier to take, and he managed to inhale on the step after that. By the time he was passed the abused rose bushes he was no longer feeling like he was going to tremble. The urge to vomit was very much still present, but not as pressing. His heart was racing quick as a rabbit in his chest but he could overlook it.

Bilbo made it to the great stone steps and paused. The door was incredibly well carved and covered in runes, shapes, and images. He could look at it for an hour and still not take it all in. It was also frighteningly tall. He was utterly, and no the irony was not lost on him, dwarfed by it.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to regather his courage to open it. The great stone slab of a door opened as he reached the top step. An elderly dwarf stood in the doorway. His hair was short and white, his beard long and flipped out at the tip. He was roughly the same height as Bilbo was. He wore robes of a faded red that had clearly once been splendid. His eyes were wrinkled at the corners, signs of frequent smiles and laughter. The site of the kind face made Bilbo relax, and his rabbiting heart slowed down. He took a deep breath and exhaled with the hope that he wouldn’t tremble, faint, or bolt.

“Bilbo Baggins?” The dwarf had a thick drawl that nearly distracted Bilbo. He nodded his head and tried to smile. The stone was cold beneath his feet.

“Yes, I am Bilbo.” He swallowed and forced himself not to shuffle his feet.

“I’m Balin.”

“Oh, yes! Mister Balin.”  The only dwarf in Oakenshield manor that he had corresponded with. He was the one who had put the ad out that had first caught Bilbo’s attention. He was the head servant of the household.

“Come on inside, Lad. It’s dark out and the night is cold.” The dwarf stepped aside to allow him in. “The children are already in bed so we’ll need to be quiet.”

“I could come back?” He had seen a lovely tree on the way to the manor. If he needed to he could rest quite comfortably in it for the night. It wasn’t like he had any gold to spare on a actual room. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but Bilbo was used to making the best of situations.

“Nonsense. I’ll see you settled tonight. I have questions I should like to ask you this evening as well. You will be able to examine your future gardens in the morning. If you can get through the gate.” He snorted, apparently finding the idea funny. Amazingly, the garden was the only part of this entire thing he wasn’t worried about. He’d been tending to them since he was a fauntling.

Balin led him into the house and shut the door behind him. He barred it and turned around to face Bilbo. It was pleasantly warm inside, far more than it had been outside. a fire lit the entrance hall, and there were lamps on several tables. “Follow me.” Balin walked down the hall, through several finely decorated rooms, and into what was clearly the servants dining area. It was decorated similarly to the rest of the house that Bilbo had seen, with fine tapestries and intricately carved wood work on all the furniture, but it felt more worn. More lived in than the rest of the old home. Trinkets decorated its shelves and made the room feel like a home. It had personality, and dwarves clearly frequented it.

There was a table at the center of the room laid out with bread, cheese, meat, and a pot of tea. Bilbo’s mouth nearly watered at the sight of it and he had to take two quick breaths to keep from going towards it.

He hadn’t eaten since lunch, and that had been both a meager meal, and hours ago. “Have a seat, Master Baggins.”

“Bilbo please.”

“Bilbo.” He motioned to a chair in front of the food and Bilbo took it, praying that his stomach didn’t embarrass him with a growl. He sat primly and deposited his pack on the floor by his feet. Balin took the chair across from him and laid several papers out. He shuffled through them for a moment before lifting his eyes to look at the food and then at Bilbo. “Is the meal not to your liking?”

“What?” He jerked in surprise and reached out for a piece of bread before stopping himself. “I-I didn’t want to appear rude.”

Balin shook his head. “Sorry, culture differences. Feel free to enjoy the meal. It was prepared for you.” Bilbo snatched a plate up and piled it with the food while Balin went back to sorting out his papers. He very nearly purred in delight at the taste of it.

“The salary of thirty silver pieces a month was agreeable, yes?” Balin asked as he initialed items on what looked like a contract. His green ink was cheerfully bright against the cream of the paper and the rest of the black ink that it was written in. It reminded Bilbo of the rolling hills of his home and he had to look away. He took his tea up before answering.

“Yes, sir.” He took a long drink of the tea and let his eyes flutter closed at the taste. There was nothing like a good cuppa. It warmed him from the inside out. A pleasant heat that uncurled in his belly and snaked through his limbs, tingling and undoing the painful chill the night had thrust on him. He would happily curl up in it and stay for the night.

“Then you just need to sign the contract and we can discuss the finer points.” He passed a thick piece of folded paper to Bilbo while he continued filling out a form of some sorts. It was in a language Bilbo did not read, which meant it was likely Khuzdul.

Bilbo turned his attention to the folded paper and nibbled on a piece of cheese while he read over it. It was a basic contract of agreement. It covered living and cost, garden expectations, care arrangements, and a section on privacy. He would not be allowed to speak about what he saw or heard from the tenants that lived on the property.

He was used to the secrecy of dwarves, so that didn’t surprise him. He signed his name and set the quill aside.

He felt no different. He’d just promised to serve at this house for the next year, to not share any information, to live in the upper level and to only return home with express permission, and he didn’t feel any different.

He passed the papers back to Balin who took them, glanced at the signature, then folded it back up. He set it on top of the other papers and smiled. Bilbo returned the smile and felt… hopeful.

It was a nice feeling.

-[]-[]-[]-

His room, like the rest of the ridiculously expensive house, was gorgeous. He had a wardrobe carved with tree designs that was made of a lovely cherry wood, a desk underneath the window that was perfect for writing letters, an end table with a bowl and pitcher made from porcelain and richly decorated, and a bed that was more lavish than any he’d ever seen. It was made from stone, intricately carved with four post that rose towards the ceiling before tapering off to a point. The mattress was plump, the bedspread blue and plush, and the pillows freshly fluffed. His toes tingled against the hardwood floor and he wanted nothing more than to dive into it.

But Bilbo was a sensible Hobbit. He unpacked his few clothes into the wardrobe and his writing utensils onto the desk.

Then he pulled the covers back and climbed into the bed. His tired feet sent a wave of gratefulness and he let his eyes slip close before he pushed himself up partially and blew out the candle.

He slumped back in the bed, enjoying the cool cotton of his sheets and the softness of the mattress. He slipped his eyes shut and sighed.

It was extremely quiet. There was nothing, not even the chirping of a cricket, to distract him from his thoughts.

He was no longer in the Shire. There were no cousins anywhere near, and no garden for him to wander through. He’d long ago lost his books and arm chair, but he longed for the comforts of his home more than he had in so very long.

Change was necessary, he knew it, knew it more than most. Still, it hurt to be forced away from everything he knew and loved. He’d gone from being rich, comfortable, and surrounded by family to poor, desolate, and shunned. He missed his bed, quilt, and the scent of fresh bread, but he missed his family most. Their absence was a physical pain. Like part of his heart had been cut out. He was free floating without the anchor he’d held onto most of his life.

Bilbo gripped the blanket and forced his eyes to stay shut. He swallowed thickly and tried not to think about the homesickness welling up in his chest, trying to overflow. Tomorrow would bring enough challenges and adventures, he didn’t need a bleeding heart.

He turned onto his side and pressed his cheek into the pillow. It was nicer than anything he’d had in a long while. The master of the land was clearly quite rich.

Bilbo didn’t even  know who his new master was. His last name was Oakenshield-or it was his epithet- either way, it was all he knew about him. He had yet to meet the Lords of the house, or any servant but Balin. He was a stranger in the manor. A hobbit among dwarves. He’d have a lot of learning to do.

Still, he was a Baggins, and that meant he was made to endure. He would open his eyes tomorrow and greet the day, no matter what it brought.

For now he drew his blanket tighter around his shoulders and curled up into a ball. All the comforts in the world wouldn’t ease his heart.

-[]-[]-[]-

He had barely made it out of his room the next morning before he heard them. He’d dressed in his brown breeches, white shirt, and red vest with his hair freshly combed. It was his nicest outfit, and he felt more confident whenever he wore it. It was, perhaps, too nice for gardening, but Bilbo wanted to make a good impression.

The shouts echoed throughout the entire corridor as he clicked his door shut. The clatter of booted feet sounded behind him, and he spun to see what was coming. Two dwarf lads, already taller than hobbit tweenager, ran towards him. The one in the front had blond locks that were partially braided in a haphazard way that suggested someone who had run away before the task was finished. His beard was short, and he had a small mustache. His eyes were a bright blue, and he was wearing an old tunic and trousers, the bottom of which were already caked with mud. He drew to an abrupt stop at seeing Bilbo, and the dwarf behind him ran into him.

The second dwarf was a little shorter than his brother, and not quite as broad. He had brown, wavy hair, that was entirely bead free. His beard was barely there, and Bilbo was fairly certain nothing had been combed. He wore red, also mud splattered. His eyes were honey colored and full of mischief.

“Who are you?” The blond brother asked with the blunt honesty of a child. Bilbo felt himself instantly warm up at the sound of it and stepped away from his door.

“My name is Bilbo Baggins, you may call me Bilbo. You are young Master Fíli?”

“Im Kíli!” The brown haired one cut in before his brother could do anything more than nod. Fíli shot him an amused grin and examined Bilbo with a tilted head.

“What are you?” The blond head flipped from side to side in a move so similar to Merry that Bilbo felt a fierce ache rise under his heart.

“I’m a hobbit.” He smiled and stepped forward softly.

“The gardener?”

“Correct. Where were you two headed for in such a rush? Breakfast?” Kíli’s nose wrinkled while Fíli slowly nodded his head. “I’m headed there myself, though I’m not certain of the way. Would you two escort me?” The request did the trick and he had two excited dwarves on either side. Fíli rambled the entire time they walked, and excited bounce in his step while Kíli trailed dutifully behind.

“And then we’re going to climb the tree!” Fíli nearly jumped at the final exclamation, which he clearly thought was the most impressive thing to ever be uttered.

“What kind?” Bilbo asked, smiling and sounding excited. He loved children. They were nearly to the kitchen again, if he was remembering correctly. He’d have been too nervous to eat if he was by himself.

“Oak.” Fíli said as if it was obvious. He flapped his hand through the air, and shook his head. “But it’s the tallest one!”

He pulled the door to the kitchen open and smiled down at the beaming dwarf. Kíli was staring shyly at the ground with a soft smile. “I can’t wait to see it. I’ve never been much for climbing trees. I fell out of a few when I was younger and everyone put up such a fuss that I wasn’t allowed near any trees for almost a decade.” He carefully avoided mentioning a father or mother. He wasn’t certain what the parental situation was here, but it was obvious at least one of the parents were not here. He wouldn’t bring any sad memories forward if he could avoid them.

The table had already been set with food, which made Bilbo both excited and sad. He had wanted to meet at least one other member of the serving staff. Still, a hobbit wasn’t going to sulk at food. He’d meet the others after breakfast. Hopefully.

He helped the young dwarves into their seats and poured them up a cup of milk apiece. Fíli accepted the cup with a broad grin and a ‘thank you before diving into the milk with the abandon of one who considered milk to be at the height of delectableness.

Kíli inclined his head with a shy grin when he took the cup. “Le fael.” (Thank you.) Bilbo paused, half turned back to the table and blinked.

“Pedig edhellen?” (You speak elvish?) Kíli nodded his head, his smile still shy and eyes on the table.

“If you’re asking if he speaks elvish, that’s all he’ll speak.” Balin stated with a huff and tired shake of his head as he entered the room. He made a beeline for the table and took the cup of tea waiting for him up with a relieved sigh. His hair was still braid free, which surprised Bilbo.

Bilbo looked back at Kíli who immediately ducked his head. Fíli elbowed his brother with a broad smile and caught his gaze. He passed him a slice of toast and waited until Kíli nibbled it before focusing on his own breakfast.

Bilbo sat down quietly and swallowed a gulp of tea. It seemed like his stay at Oakenshield Manor would be a bit more interesting than he had originally thought.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just need to take a moment to say I love you guys <3 It always makes me smile to see when you comment, all the familiar icons and user-names. :D I love hearing your thoughts and opinions. Thanks for always taking the time to chat :D

The other house servants were waiting to meet him outside. There were four of them currently at the house, and another few that would be arriving with the master’s return.

The oldest was a healer, which Bilbo would have guessed without an introduction. He had the scent of herbs and ointment heavy about him that reminded Bilbo of Lily Cotten’s hole. She’d been the local healer for as long as he could remember. The dwarf’s braids kept his grey hair off his face and neatly tucked away. He had a bag looped over his shoulder that had several instruments poking out. His hands were calloused and impeccably clean, and he had an ear trumpet in his left hand. His name was Óin and he was next in status to Balin.

His brother had ginger hair that was thick and only had a few braids. His beard bore several braids, and his brown eyes were quick to examine Bilbo. He had two axes strapped to his back, and a smaller axe hanging at his side. He was the houses guard. His name was Glóin and Bilbo quickly learned that he was married and had a child near Fíli and Kíli’s age.

The dwarf standing next to him was rather large, with ginger hair as well. His beard was braided in a thick loop that had bits of flour dusting it. His eyes were small, but cheerful. He had loose clothing on, which was stained with food from an obvious long time of cooking.  His name was Bombur, and he was also married. His wife was pregnant and living on the land next to Glóin’s family.

The fourth servant, Dori, was over the cleaning. He had silvery hair that was pulled back in a fussy style that Bilbo wanted to pick apart. He wore finely tailored clothes and was exceptionally neat. He stood straight with a dignified air, and kept his grey eyes on the last servant.

Ori, the last servant, was clearly the youngest of the servants. He had a swift smile, and was clothed entirely in warm looking knits, except for his trousers, which were a soft wool. His fingers were ink stained and his bowl-cut hair had four or five braids hanging from it. He was the children's tutor. He spoke Sindarin, and was the only dwarf who understood what Kíli was saying. Fíli understood him, of course, but only because he understood Kíli, not Sindarin.

Ori and Gloin escorted him to the back ‘garden’ which was not a garden in the least. It was a patch of land with a few iron benches, and a lovely pond, but the plants had all grown wild. Glóin was to lead the exercise for the dwarflings while Bilbo gardened and Ori watched. Ori took the time to practice calligraphy. He was training to be a scribe.

Bilbo tended to the garden (hardly noticing he did so) while the lesson went on. Glóin taught the boys a wide variety of things, but they were going over a dwarven throwing game at that moment.

And so began the schedule of Bilbo’s day.

He took breakfast with all the servants, Fíli, and Kíli. They then went outside for their exercise with Glóin. Bilbo tended to the poor plants outside. He started with clearing away all the dead plants, which took most of the first two days. After a few hours of work they’d go inside for lunch. Then it was out to the front garden for Bilbo and several more hours clearing the dead things out of the front flower gardens. It would be beautiful when it was finished.

The other dwarves seemed a little mystified by his work. They watched him tend to the plants with confusion and a little wonder. When he talked to them (the plants, not the dwarves) they looked alarmed. It very nearly made him laugh.

His mother (Mandos take care of her soul) would always chat to the plants and he’d picked up on the habit through the years.

They took dinner together, and then retired to one of the larger rooms for the evening until Fíli, and Kíli had to go to bed. They would sing songs and tell stories to fill the quiet, large home. It was loud, and the air was filled with endless laughter, even if Bilbo occasionally noticed a sad look in the older dwarves eyes.

For the first few nights, he hardly said anything. He spent his time watching the others interact, only speaking if he was spoken to.

Dori was an attentive dwarf, always watching out for his brother. He would also mother the two lads. Both of who pretended they disliked the attention but secretly relished in it. He knew how every dwarf in the room liked their tea, or ale, and would serve it to them with a smile.

Ori was always knitting or sketching. His fingers were never still. Whether they were toying with a bit of yarn or a quill, they were in constant motion. If his hands were empty he’d drum them on the nearest surface. He was quick to offer answers, and always tried to do something to fit in with the others dwarves.

Gloin only stayed until eight, and then he returned to his own home with Bombur in tow. He’d give Óin and Balin a head bump before leaving and squeeze Ori’s shoulder. Dori received a nod and brotherly smile that confused Bilbo and made him yearn for more of their history.

Balin would sit in the large chair and start the story telling. He watched everyone else as well, his eyes soft and full of memory. He was obviously the leader of the small group, and unquestionably the heart.

By the third night Bilbo started to contribute to the conversation. Then he actually started a few.

Still, despite his constant observing, the only ones he really learned about were the children. Fíli was talkative, but extremely self-conscious in how he posed and spoke whenever Balin was around. Kíli was horribly shy, and clearly troubled about something.

Their mother lived in another kingdom and had sent the two children to their Uncle. Thorin, the elusive master of the house, had taken over their education and care for reasons that no one had yet to share. Their father had died fairly recently in a warg attack. An attack that Kíli had apparently witnessed. Oin believed that was the reason the dwarfling spoke Sindarin.

It broke his heart to learn. Such young children shouldn’t face so terrible a loss.

They were both mischievous, which was expected. Kíli hated having his hair braided, but Fíli loved it. Fíli was also the only one who could get Kíli to sit still long enough for any kind of a braid. If they ever got out of their assigned guardians sight they would find their way into any closed room and wreak havoc in it. They hated scones but loved toast. Neither would eat any vegetable unless bribed, and fruit was to be hidden at all cost.

No one talked about the master, and no one talked about their own, or the mansions past. They’d talk about their small families, and the day’s events at the house, but were quick to change the subject when it was deemed inappropriate.

Which it was a lot.

Still, Bilbo was used to avoiding topics. He was fine with not talking about their subjects if they left his alone.

It was comfortable enough, and he settled into a routine quickly. It was pleasant. Far more than his life had been in too long a time. He had stability, and the comforts of home again. Everything a hobbit needed to be happy.

Yet Bilbo Baggin’s was bored. The last few years of his life had been crazy, and he had grown used to each day being a new, if not pleasant, adventure.

He longed for something unexpected.

A week after he’d joined the staff at Oakenshield Manor, the change he craved occurred.

“Will you take this to the garden?” Balin passed a bundle wrapped in linen to Bilbo with a calm smile. He accepted it and glanced out the window. It was dark already. Still, the weather was pleasant and he loved walking. The children had already been sent to bed, and the conversation in the study had dwindled down with their absence.

A walk sounded delightful to Bilbo. He could investigate the further areas of the garden, and begin to plan what the layout would be. He nodded his head and tucked the bundle close. He took his cloak up and went out the door before stopping. The wind was cool against his skin, but not as uncomfortably cold as it had been the night he’d come to the manor.

The stars were bright, and the yard was well lit by the moon. He had forgotten how beautiful the night could be. He used to take regular night walks. The world seemed more magical at night, more mysterious. As though anything could happen.

Impossible things didn’t seem so impossible.

The bench in question was empty, and the garden was quiet. There was no trace of animal life. No rabbits trying to sneak a bite, or squirrels building nest. That just went to show how bad off the garden had been. He’d seen a pair of birds investigating one of his berry bushes earlier, so there was hope.

He took a seat on the bench and deposited the package beside himself. There was no reason he couldn’t take a moment to appreciate the night and her beauty. He tilted his head up to better see the stars and let a smile lift his unconcerned lips.

He _missed_ this. He liked the mansion. It was lovely and large and very well furnished, but it was missing the nature that hobbit holes had. He missed the smell of dirt and growing things that perforated the air of his old hole.

A gentle breeze wafted across the nearly-cleaned garden and he let his eye slip shut as his smile grew. He drifted off, not really asleep, but not fully awake. He was lost in a wonderful place of dozing and daydreaming where everything was warm and comfortable and anything seemed possible.

The crunch of leaves drew his attention away. His eyes snapped open as his heart started to rabbit in his chest. He jerked to his feet as his eyes took in a tall, broad, shadowy form in front of him. He yelped in shock and brought his hands up to his chest in defense.

“Melekûn?” The dark figure reached out for him and Bilbo reacted purely out of fright and self preservation. He kicked his foot out at the figure as hard as he could be and shouted again. He connected with the figure who doubled over with a gasp. Another shout, vicious and low, echoed around the tired garden. Bilbo backed up around the bench and, without looking back, ran for the mansion.

Glóin was running outside with Balin on his heels. He ran past the ginger dwarf and spun around so that Glóin was in front of him, protecting him from whatever had been outside. A hand grabbed his arm and tugged him further back and he found himself inside the house a moment later, with Ori still dragging him away.

-[]-[]-[]-

He was taken to the sitting room and given a strong cup of tea. Ori sat patiently by his side and wrapped a blanket around his shoulders. He couldn’t hear anything from outside the room, and no one else was with them.

“I’m honestly fine.” Bilbo finally said. He felt a bit silly, in all honesty. He wasn’t even sure who had trespassed on the property. He had simply not been expecting anybody. Their sudden encroachment on his daydreams had terrified him. He’d had no time to prepare for their approach and had reacted as if his life was in danger.

It might have been one of the many tenants that lived further away on the land.

“Do you mind my asking why you were outside?”  Bilbo ran his thumb along the rim of his mug and looked at it without really seeing it. He was trying to remember what the figure had looked like, but he couldn’t pull out any details. The voice had been decidedly male, and deep.

“Balin asked me to set a bundle on the bench in the south garden.” He shrugged a shoulder and tucked the mug closer. “He didn’t say why.”

Maybe that had been the package’s intended recipient?

It took Bilbo a minute to realize the room was quiet and that Ori hadn’t made any sort of a response. He lifted his head to see why, and found the dwarf gaping at him. His mouth was open and his eyes were wide, shocked. Confusion twisted in Bilbo’s stomach and he shifted uncomfortably.

What had he missed?

“Ori?”

“Mahal,” the bookish dwarf squeaked as he brought his hand up to cover his mouth.

“What?” He pushed forward in his chair, setting the mug aside as panic replaced the confusion. The color was draining out of Ori’s face and it was scaring him.

“I-well-what did you do exactly? What did the figure say?”

“I was sitting on the bench with the bundle beside me when he appeared. I jumped up in surprise and it said something like ‘malekun.’ I kicked him and ran.”

Ori grew even paler. Bilbo felt positively sick. Something terrible had apparently happened. “What did I do?”

“Well…” Ori swallowed and folded his hands into his lap neatly. It was a stalling technique Bilbo had noticed him use with the childrens lessons and the evening stories.  He watched the hands, and a moment later Ori’s pointer fingers started tapping against each other. He really could not hold still. “I think that might have been… but perhaps it was just…” Ori trailed off uncertainly and unclasped his hands to fidgeted with his sweaters starting row.

“Yes?” Bilbo urged. A horrible thought was springing up in the back of his mind but it couldn’t be right. He could not have that bad of luck.

And the master of the house wouldn’t come in through the back garden.

Ori’s eyes popped up to meet his again and his fingers continued to fidget. It was making Bilbo even more nervous, and the earlier adrenaline was flooding his system again. The tea’s calming scent seemed to urge his panic on. “I think it might have been Master Thorin.”

Bilbo sat back in his chair, oddly numb. He had not only acted like a fauntling seeing a spider, he had _attacked_ his new boss, and the owner of the house he was residing in. By the Green Lady Fair, he had terrible luck. He was a fool. An utter fool. Fool was too kind a word, really. Their had to be something harsher to describe the utter ridiculousness of his actions and reactions.

Yavanna’s garden, he had _kicked_ Thorin Oakenshield.

He was going to be fired before night’s end. No, being fired was the best option. He might even be arrested.

“He probably said: Melekûn.” Ori added after a moment. He said it like it should console Bilbo. Which it didn’t, of course, mainly because he didn’t speak any khuzdul.

“Which meant?”

“Oh. Master Thorin was calling you a hobbit. The Master was probably confused. I’m not certain Balin told him that he hired a gardener.”

Which just made the evening even better. He hadn’t been approved of and he’d introduced himself by kicking his new boss. Brilliant.

He took the tea cup back up and drank half of it in one gulp. It did almost nothing against the resignation and panic settling in his stomach, but it did help him feel warmer. He took another, smaller, swallow and stared at the mug again.

He was going to have to find another job. Would he get paid for the work he’d done? It’d be enough for some travel money. He could probably make it to Gondor with what he had. They were a richer country. They would surely have use for a gardener. There would be teasing, unending teasing, for his size but he could cope.

“Mister Baggins?” Balin’s voice shocked Bilbo out of his silent revere. He blinked up in surprise and found Balin standing in the doorway. The dwarf continued when he had Bilbo’s attention. “The Master wishes to see you.”

Bilbo gulped the rest of his now cool tea (had he been thinking that long?) and set the mug aside. He stood up and dusted off his hands before giving his vest a settling yank. There was no point in delaying the inevitable. He might as well be fired now. Hopefully the Master would let him stay the night. If not, it’d be back out to that lovely tree on the road.

Balin led him to a room at the south end of the mansion. A study he hadn’t been in yet. It was lit by a fireplace, and had two, plush, chairs that faced the fire. There was a small table between them, and a bookshelf on the far wall. It was wonderfully cozy looking. There was a tray sitting on the table already. It had pitcher of a dark amber liquid, two cups, and two bowls with soup. The cups both had a measure of the liquid in them, and had clearly been partially drunk.  The backs of the chairs were to him, and he couldn’t see if anyone was sitting in them.

“Agjî nadad.” (Come, brother) Balin quietly ordered once they entered. A tall, burly dwarf clothed in furs and leathers stood. He glared at Bilbo the entire time he walked around the chairs, to Balin, and then out the door. Bilbo remained still and kept his eyes on the other chair. He was certain someone was sitting in it.

“Come to the fire, Mister Baggins.” The voice, coming from the chair, was a deep, rumbling note that Bilbo could feel through his entire body. It demanded a response, and obedience in the way a father’s rebuke demanded attention. Bilbo’s body snapped to attention and his feet moved without leave of his brain, less the owner of that deep voice be angered.

The Master stood as Bilbo rounded the chairs, and he found his breath catching in his chest.

The dwarf was, in the order Bilbo noticed: stern, imposing, and tall. He had long, thick, black hair with streaks of grey, and a neatly trimmed beard. He was clothed in leather breeches and a wool tunic that had golden runes embroidered around the neckline. His feet had a pair of house slippers on them. Still, something about his presence was very commanding, and possibly quite dangerous.

He had blue eyes. They were a light shade, pale even in the firelight. The color of forget-me-nots, though dwarves would probably say sapphires. They were lovely in color and shape, but icy cold.

The dwarf was not amused.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For everyone who mentioned Jane Eyre, thanks! I love that story, and it never even occurred to me. I think I'm going to put a few strands of it in here, it fits rather well into my original plot ;D

Bilbo stood still and tall. There didn’t seem to be anything else to do.

Thorin advanced on him slowly, eyeing him up and down as he circled around him before taking a place in front of him by the fireplace. Bilbo studied him back, trying not to fidget under the heavy gaze. He was curious why the dwarf had a trimmed beard when most dwarves would probably consider that a dishonor. He also bore very few braids. Only two that Bilbo could see.

There were scars on his face and neck as well. Battle wounds maybe?

“A gardener Balin said? You look more like a grocer.”

Was that a comment on his weight? He was actually underweight for the average hobbit. The last year hadn’t been kind to him or his stomach. Before that, sorrow had stolen his appetite. Dwarves only ate three times a day, so he still wasn’t getting the normal amount of food a hobbit would eat.

Still, Bilbo’s cheeks heated an ashamed red. He wanted to duck his head and stare at the floor, but he knew enough about dwarfs to know that would earn him no respect. He kept his back straight and his eyes on Thorin.

“Yes, sir, I’m the gardener.” Thorin leaned against the mantle on the fireplace and studied Bilbo with a slightly tilted head. It was silent for several, long, moments.

“Hobbit’s are creatures of comfort, they say.” Thorin finally murmured when Bilbo feared he would shout to get rid of the silence. His voice was deep and silky and seemed to wash over Bilbo’s frame. “They seek it in all that they do. Dwarrows are not comfortable. We are not soft, round or, pleasant. We are not lovely or light. We are rock and dark caves.” He pushed away from the fireplace and Bilbo had to swallow against a sudden lump in his throat. Thorin was tall and broad and daunting. “I was against hiring you, as I did not see the need.”

“Then you haven’t been outside.” Bilbo stated, suddenly defensive. He wished the words back the moment he spoke them, but stood tall regardless. He blurted without thinking, he would bear them with thought now.

Thorin raised his eyebrow, and a brightness lit in his forget-me-not colored eyes. “Indeed? And what is wrong with my garden?”

“Should I start with the dead plants, the overgrown bushes, or the fact that you have more weeds than flowers?” If he was going to be in trouble for speaking his mind, he was going to speak all of it.

Besides, he wasn’t about to stand around and have someone judge him merely for being a hobbit. He didn’t judge Thorin for being a dwarf. For being a rude, assuming, ass? Yes. He’d judge him all the day long. But not for being a dwarf.

And since when had being pleasant been a bad thing?

The more Bilbo thought about what Thorin had said, the more annoyed he found himself. He scowled and crossed his arms over his chest.

“What good is a garden? It has no practical value.” Thorin returned. He raised a dark eyebrow in obvious challenge.

“Then you are doing it wrong.” He paused, “sir.” it was an obvious after thought but he wouldn’t be purposefully rude. “Gardens can grow food, medicine, and household herbs. A garden’s use is only limited by its gardener.” He paused again, and decided to just forget proprietary. “Or Master, as the case may be.”

Thorin’s eyes grew wider, and seemed brighter. “Then I will instruct Oin to make you a list of medicinal herbs he would like, and Balin to make you one for any household herbs he might need. I trust Bombur has already informed you of what he would like?”

Bilbo nodded his head, a little confused, and let his hands drop back to his sides. “Anything for simple beauty?”

“Whatever space is left may be used for aesthetics. I would not have a useless garden.” The word ‘and Gardener’ seemed to hang in the air. Bilbo felt like he was being tested, and he wasn’t certain how to pass.

“Beauty is hardly useless if it gives the eye something pleasant to look out, the nose something appealing to smell, and the hand something nice to touch. It can relieve stress and calm the most unhealthy of hearts.” Bilbo, in his memories, could hear his mother saying the same thing. Her curls bound back in a braid and a broad brimmed hat on her head. She had her gardening apron on and dirt on her calloused hands.

“Then I leave you to do what you will with the garden. I will inspect your progress on it in a fortnight.” Bilbo nodded his head and did a mental calculation of how much he would have done by then. He would certainly have it mapped out, and depending on a little luck, most of the seed and plants could be purchased.

Thorin stared at him while he thought. He still didn’t know what to make of the heavy gaze. He wanted to fidget or shuffle on his feet, but didn’t want to look like a fauntling.

“Why were you in the garden tonight?” Thorin finally asked. His tone was deep as midnight, and Bilbo wanted to shiver at the sound of it. It was the reason he’d been called into Thorin’s study.

“To deliver a package. The night was lovely so I decided to sit on the bench for a while.” He shrugged and turned his gaze to the crackling fire. It had nearly burned through one log. “I enjoy the feel of starlight on my skin.”

“And you did not hear me or my guards approaching?”

“Guards? No. I didn’t hear you until you were right in front of me. I couldn’t really see and you alarmed me.” He felt like he was being interrogated, but he had kicked Thorin. The dwarf couldn’t employ someone that was violent.

Thorin considered his answer for a moment. His own eyes were on the fire and he had his arms crossed over his chest. “Have you done much fighting? Axe or sword, what is your weapon of choice?”

“I’ve never fought. I wouldn’t know how to handle an axe or sword.”

Thorin’s eyebrow rose again. Apparently Bilbo was endlessly confusing and amusing. It made him a little irritated. “Indeed? You had remarkable instinct.”

“Kicking was remarkable?”

“Against a taller opponent.”

It occurred to him after a beat that that was a compliment. His mouth, following its pattern for the evening, made the observation out loud. “That was an actual compliment.”

The bright fire kindled in Thorin’s eyes again. “We shall have to see if you can earn more, hobbit.” It was a challenge, and a fairly obvious one at that. Still, Bilbo was eager to rise to it. He had no idea why Thorin thought Gardens and Gardeners useless, but he would prove him wrong.

He would become utterly necessary to Oakenshield Manor.

-[]-[]-[]-

The next morning dawned far too early for Bilbo’s taste. Still, he pulled himself out of bed. He corralled Fíli and Kíli, as was his routine. He was still new and different enough that the children listened to him without too much complaint. They even followed him with eager smiles on occasion.

“What are you two learning about this afternoon?” Fíli’s grin grew all the larger as they wandered down the hallway that led to the dining room.

“We’re going to learn about Khazad-Dum!” Kíli nodded his head fervently and tugged on Bilbo’s sleeve to gain his attention. Bilbo used his free hand to pull open the dining room door.

“Moria. Im hwiniol!” (I’m excited) Bilbo nodded his head with a smile as Kíli stared up at him with large eyes.

“Thand?” (Really)

“Uncle!” Fíli suddenly shrieked, making Bilbo’s hand spasm against the door. Kíli’s eyes bolted to what his brother was looking at and then both the lads were running into the room with their arms open wide. Balin was at his usual spot, but there were three other dwarves with him. Thorin was at the head of the table, the dwarf that had glared at Bilbo last night was at his right, and on that dwarf’s other side was a wild looking dwarf. Not only because his hair was standing out in severe braids, but because he had the head of an axe sticking out of his head.

Bilbo managed not to stare only because Thorin was staring at him and as odd as a dwarf with an axe in his head was, it had nothing on the power of Thorin’s gaze combined with a frown.

He hugged his nephews, tugged Fíli’s braid, and tweaked Kíli’s ear, both of which earned him a giggle. “Namadinùdôy.” (Sister’s sons) He greeted, his lips slipping into a quick smile. His touch was fond and the smile tender, and it made Bilbo’s heartache in a woefully familiar way. His own cousins were near Fíli and Kíli’s age. Drogo and Primula would probably have all three at their house right now. Frodo and Merry were trouble together, when Pippin was thrown in with them… well, it was best to make sure at least two hobbits were watching them.

“Do you usually eat with my nephews, Gardener?”

“Thorin,” Balin started, but he was silenced with a look from Thorin and the burly dwarf.

“I wasn’t informed that I shouldn’t.” Bilbo answered honestly enough. He had hoped he’d dreamt most of his interaction with Thorin. The dwarf was unsettling and intimidating in a way that Bilbo was most certainly not accustomed to. He had a way of looking at someone as though they were both a disappointment and a hinderance.

He wasn’t even sure Thorin was aware he looked at people like that. Not that he really knew anything about the dwarf. One conversation hardly equated to knowing someone. Still, he didn’t want to get in trouble before the day even started. “I wasn’t coming for breakfast today. I was delivering Fíli and Kíli before heading out to the garden. I want to finish clearing everything away before the day gets too hot.” He smiled, bowed slightly, and backed out of the room before anyone else could say anything.

He took a moment, standing in front of the now closed door, and just stood. His heart was already rabbiting in his chest and he hadn’t even really done anything. He needed to gather his wits, avoid further interaction with Thorin, and find something for breakfast. Where did the other dwarves usually eat? And why, for the love Eru and his song, had no one told him that servants ate somewhere else?

Bilbo swallowed, smoothed his vest, and turned on the spot. He walked back down the hall, took a right, and went to the kitchen. Ori, Dori, and Óin were lounging around the counter, Bombur was at the stove, and another dwarf was laughing from the table. He had a hat on, which would never have been allowed in a hobbit hole-one did not sit at a table to eat with a hat- and his braids stood out from his head in a curve. His beard was short, but his mustache was curled on the ends. He was dressed in wool and leathers, and had bright, brown, happy eyes.

“Bilbo!” Ori called cheerfully. The other dwarves turned their attention on him with cheery waves, while Dori simply looked relieved. “I worried when you didn’t return.”

“I went straight to bed after meeting Master Thorin.” Bilbo said in answer. He went to the counter they were reclined at and relaxed at the sight of scones. Ori was already eating one so he helped himself to one. They were still warm and Bilbo could smell a hint of cinnamon and honey in them. His stomach growled in excitement.

“How’d that go?” The new dwarf laughed. He picked a pipe up from the table and put it in his mouth while he waited for Bilbo’s answer.

“Um, not terribly. I wasn’t fired.” He frowned and took another bite. “Though it felt like it might have been a near thing.”

Dori made a consoling, cooing noise while Bombur passed him a bowl with clotted cream. Óin was studying him with a frown. He’d probably missed half of what they were saying. “He’s my brother, Bofur.” Bombur added after a moment.

“Nice to meet you.”

“At your service, Mister Baggins.” Bofur tipped his hat and went back to his pipe.

“Why was no one at breakfast this morning?” Bilbo asked while he worked on a second scone. It, and a glass of tea that Dori passed him, were helping to take away the nerves from seeing Thorin and the other dwarves.

“Because Thorin is not a morning person.” Dori said, a knowing smile on his lips. He lifted his own cup of chamomile closer and snorted. “Neither is Dwalin for that matter.”

“Bifur is. Though, I don’t think he much cares what time of day it is. Not even sure he notices time.” Bofur stated, frowning.

“Dwalin? Bifur?”

“Dwalin would be the large one. He has a scar,” Ori made a slashing motion from just above his eyebrow across to his nose, “and a scowl, usually. He’s Balin’s younger brother. A cousin of Master Thorin.”

“Bifur has the axe,” Bombur tapped his head. “He’s our cousin.”

“So Balin is related to Thorin?”

“They’re second cousins.” Dori answered matter-of-factly around a sip of tea. “I'm even related to him through my father. Third cousins twice removed, on his mother’s side.”

“Really,” Bilbo propped his elbow on the counter and made himself comfortable. “So Fíli and Kíli are your Fourth cousins once removed.”

“How do you even keep up with that?” Bofur asked, an easy smile playing on his lips.

“It’s rather simple, really. Hobbits families are remarkably complicated and we’re taught our family trees in school.” He swallowed the last of his scone and and drink before dusting his hands off. He needed to head off before someone asked about his ‘progress.’ He grabbed one more scone, wrapped it in his handkerchief, and stuffed it into his pocket before saying goodby and going outside.

The sun was bright and the day was already promising to be warmer. Spring was quickly approaching, and Bilbo was giddy at the thought of it. Winter was lovely, but nothing compared to the beauty of Spring.

He dragged the last of the dead bushes to the pile that Balin had instructed him to make. He would burn them later, probably that evening.

Once he had everything cleared he set about tending the plants that weren’t dead. A few were quite badly off, but most had managed to hold their own. He went to the flowers first, as they were the more delicate plants and a few were some that Óin could use.

He’d lost all track of time when he was suddenly hit in the back by two excited bundles.

“Bilbo nîn!” (My Bilbo) Kíli exclaimed with a squeak as Bilbo shrugged the children off and pulled them around to his front to tickle at them. He heard other dwarves approaching and let the lads straighten up with a smile.

“And good morning to you two too! Did you have fun with your uncle then?”

“Yes, he brought us presents.” Fíli said as he pushed his hair away from his face. His braid was already coming undone, and Kíli’s was looking as though it would be a hopeless mess by days end.

“Let Mister Baggins work!” Ori called from behind, and then he appeared in Bilbo’s view with his bag of yarn and needles in tow. He settled on the bench as usual with a shy, little smile and set to work on a pair of fingerless mittens.

“Over here, lads.” A gruff voice Bilbo didn’t know said and he found himself stiffening before turning to see who it was. The burly dwarf, Dwalin, was standing behind him without his furs. He had a light tunic on that made it obvious just how muscular he was. Bilbo felt  very small in comparison. Dwalin considered him for a moment and then grinned. It was toothy and somehow vicious without meaning to be. "I'm Dwalin."

"Bilbo Baggins, at your service." Dwalin nodded his tattooed head and took the children a few feet away. Bilbo turned to the plants and saw Ori watching Dwalin with a small smile and slightly vacant look. He gradually noticed Bilbo's gaze and flushed. He dropped his eyes to his knitting and Bilbo smirked. He'd be asking about that later.

He focused on the plants again and hummed to himself while he worked. Ori clicked his needles in time to his tune and Bilbo found himself singing about inns a few minutes later. It was a ridiculous tune that earned a few snorts of laughter from Ori.

It felt comfortable, and Bilbo hoped he could stay.


	4. Chapter 4

The next day when he went to shop for supplies, everyone in the small town seemed to know that Thorin was back. Humans and dwarves alike asked after him, almost interrogating Bilbo in their curiosity.

He didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure why everyone was curious but he knew that no one in the manor would spread any information.

The mansion itself seemed far more active with Thorin’s return. The servants were more cheerful, and there was alway at least one dwarf from the land visiting. Bilbo was accustomed to having more visitors and enjoyed the company. Just hearing their voices fill the previously quiet air was a nice change. It reminded Bilbo of summer afternoons from his childhood.

His father, Bungo, had courted his mother with a passionate abandon. He’d even started to build her a home. It wasn’t until Bilbo’s fifth summer that it was completed. He could still recall the smell of fresh baked bread in the air, the color of flowers decorating every surface, the soft brush of cotton as Belladonna bustled him about. Her laughter would fill the air with light.

Then the sickness had struck, and there hadn’t been anymore laughter. Gardening was soothing, but every once in a while it made him miss his mother fiercely.

He dragged Ori along with him to the market to pick out more plants on his next visit. It seemed safer to have someone else who could answer, or not answer, the questions. On the second trip Bifur even tagged along. The dwarf was an ex-soldier who spoke nothing but khuzdul. He was very friendly despite his wild appearance, and loved flowers.

The nights continued much as they had, with Dwalin, Bifur, and Thorin joining their revelry. Bilbo crocheted quietly at night, listening and observing and painting more history to the interesting dwarves he worked with. He wasn’t quite comfortable enough around Thorin, or Dwalin, to really add anything to the conversation just yet.

Thorin had apparently fought with Dwalin, Balin, Bifur, Gloin, and even Oin in the battle to reclaim Khazad-Dum. It had been nearly fifty years ago, which meant that Thorin had only been a hundred or so. Dori had lived on the land his entire life, and he had brought Ori with him when their mother had died. They’d grown up next to Bombur and Bofur. Dwalin was unfalteringly loyal to Thorin, and Fili and Kili by default of that. Balin was clearly the mentor of Thorin, despite his servant status.

Still, it was curious. What little Bilbo had pieced together of dwarven culture made it clear that age and status were important. Both were shown by beards, braids, and beads. In the group it would look as if Oin and Dori were the highest status.

Yet Thorin was unquestionably the leader. It was a curiosity, and one Bilbo wanted to know more about. Dwarves were painfully secretive as a race, of course, but he could be patient.

Thorin was a doting uncle, and a caring leader. He looked after his dwarrows in ways that weren’t obvious unless you were looking for it. He always made certain there was enough tea stocked in each of the dwarves favorite kinds, he passed an extra blanket to Balin at night, and gifted Ori with new inks. Gloin was given an extra day off to spend with his family, and Bombur was allowed to have his brother hang around the kitchen whenever he wanted.

They were a family. Odd, but unquestionably a family.

On the start of his third week he went straight to the garden with a few scone and apples he’d snagged the previous morning. He curled up on the bench under the only tree in the garden (an Oak tree) and pulled out his notes. He had already sketched out most of the garden, but he still had a little of the front garden to decide on.

He hummed and whistled as he worked, his tongue poked between his teeth and his pencil scratching against the parchment. It was a soothing sound, and reminded him of Ori by the fire side. He let himself get lost in its music, and made little songs around it in his head.

A throat clearing made Bilbo’s hands still with his fingers still curled around the pencil and parchment. He just _knew_ Thorin was standing in front of him.

He brought the pencil down and held still for a moment and debated on what to do. Did he acknowledge the dwarf before him or continue working? He chose something in between and pulled a different sheet of parchment out to write a list of items he needed from the market.

“And what will the use of those plants be, Gardner?” Thorin’s deep tone wafted through the air and settled around Bilbo, solidifying the wary feeling in his stomach.

“The roses?”

“Yes.”

“They help cure skin blemishes, they aid against inflammation, aid with lowering fevers, and can staunch bleeding. They also smell lovely.” He kept his tone as pleasant as he could and tried not to bristle.

“You are quite knowledgeable.” Bilbo smiled down at the half sketched garden and tried not to look too pleased. That was another compliment.

“That’s why I was hired. My mother was a gardener all her life. She had a truly magnificent garden that was the envy of all the Shire. She taught me her trade.”  Thorin slowly walked forward until his boots were in Bilbo’s vision.

“You left quickly this morning, Gardener.”

And what did one say to that? He wasn’t used to servant/master dynamics. He knew he should do his job and not ask questions, but outside of that he didn’t know. The closest they’d had to servants when he was growing up was the Gamgees. They’d really been more of occasional hired help. He had grown up wealthy enough, but nothing like Thorin. He’d tried studying the other dwarves, but it was obvious they weren’t in the same position as him. They’d clearly known Thorin for years. He’d only known him for a handful of days.

Bilbo decided on some semblance of the truth. “I had quite a lot to tend to, Sir.”

“Is the garden really so badly off?” The idea seemed to sadden Thorin, which was a little ludicrous. Why would a dwarf care about his garden? Bilbo was going to make the poor thing shine again regardless of how it might be.

“Well, without care, yes. As is, I’m quite hopeful. By next year you won’t even recognize it. Spring will bring it to full, glorious bloom.” He finally lifted his gaze and found Thorin studying him with a confused frown. At least, he thought it was confused. It was hard to tell through the hair and beard. He fiddled with the parchment and pencil. “Have you had any ideas for the garden?”

Thorin’s eyes were distant, sad. There was no mistaking that expression, regardless the race. “Forget-me-nots.” He said, a little wistful. “I should like Forget-Me-Nots.”

“I can do that. In the front or back garden?” He scribbled them down onto the list with a note to get some lobelia as well. They went well together.

“Wherever you think best.” Thorin clasped his hands behind his back and stood straighter. The emotion in his eyes was already being locked away as though it had never surfaced.

“I’d put them by the fountain.” He pointed the elaborate fountain he was thinking of out, and Thorin’s gaze followed his pointing finger. “Forget-me-nots enjoy damp soil best and the fountain would provide that.”

“That would be… pleasant.” They lapsed into silence again, but Thorin didn’t make any move to leave or allow Bilbo to continue working.

“Why did you stop attending breakfast?” Thorin finally asked with a slow, measured tone. Bilbo blinked in surprise and noticed Thorin stiffen as he did so.

“I-err-it wasn’t my place?” He sighed and finally set his papers aside. “I’m not accustomed to the servant/master dynamic. I’m well-bred, by hobbit standards at least, but I don’t have any practical training in this area.” He shrugged a little sheepishly. “I’m groping around in the dark on this whole thing.”

For a long moment Thorin simply considered him. Then, quite to Bilbo’s surprise, he crossed the ground and sat next to him on the bench. He tilted his head upward to see the branches and oak leaves that rose above them, and studied their lines. Bilbo tried not to be stiff as a log.

“I too am new to the interaction. I have had servants all my life, but I have known all who serve me. I am...unaccustomed to trusting different races.”

“Despite the curved ears, hobbit’s aren’t actually related to Elves. Yavanna made us to tend her garden. At least that’s the story.” He winked, and, trying to lighten the mood, decided to tease a little, “Personally, I think she just liked feet.” He gave his own toes a wiggle and took his papers back up to avoid a potential awkward silence.

He was rewarded with a quick bark of laughter, and a look on Thorin’s face that made Bilbo chuckle. The dwarf looked startled at the sound he had made, and Bilbo was struck with the strange desire to make him laugh again, more freely.

“Indeed?” Thorin asked, settling his hands on his knees and dropping his gaze back to the cleared garden.

“Of course.” They sat silent for a moment. Some of the tension had evaporated, but a little remained and Bilbo wasn’t sure what to do with it. He was relieved to know he hadn’t _personally_ done anything to earn Thorin’s ire. That it was just a general distrust of other races. One that dwarves were fairly well known for.

He should have expected it, probably.

“Balin has informed me that I was rude at our first meetings.” Thorin kept his gaze forward, gliding over the few bushes that Bilbo hadn’t had to trim back terribly, or get rid of altogether. There was a tenderness in the gaze that Bilbo hadn’t seen directed at anything but his nephews.

Were they being candid then?

“It is not in my nature to be gentle, even with gentle folk. I was angered that I had not been asked about your inclusion, and surprised at being attacked in my own garden.”

“And I was shocked to find someone in the garden, but I shouldn’t have attacked you. It didn’t occur to me that someone was coming by to pick up the package I’d left. I also should have put more effort into learning what was proper for my station.”

“You could not be expected to know it was needed.”

“May we agree our first meeting could have gone better?” He earned a lower, rumbling laugh. Thorin’s lips quirked up in a slight smile and he nodded his head.

“We may. It was not my intention to chase you from breakfast with my nephews.” Bilbo’s eyes widened in surprise and he turned his head to fully look at Thorin, the list forgotten in his hands. “I intended quite the opposite.”

“You did?”

Thorin turned his head to look down at Bilbo, and it struck the hobbit at how good the dwarf was at mastering his expressions. His eyes were the only thing that showed any feeling, and they were still wistful. The small part of Bilbo’s mind that wasn’t reeling from talking with Thorin so calmly, wondered what the garden had been to Thorin so long ago. Because his eyes? They were full of memory.

Bilbo had never been very good at covering his emotions.

“I intended to thank you, and encourage you to continue tending.”

Bilbo replayed the breakfast in his mind before shaking his head. He hadn’t even had a hint of that.  “My nephews have suffered great loss in the past years, and would do well with any kindness. They have developed a fondness for you, and it was pleasing to see you return that.” The dwarf’s gaze dropped to his lap. “Especially when I could not.”

“It was an honor and a pleasure. I’ve been around children all my life, giving a sad one a hug, or a listening ear is easy.” The corner of his lip quirked up in a partial smile as he scribbled a few more items down onto his list. “It’s also the only time I’ve been able to use the Sindarin my mother made me learn.”

Thorin nodded his head and stood up. “Continue your work, Mister Baggins. I will check on your progress at weeks end.”

Bilbo nodded his head and watched Thorin stride back into the house. The shutter was once again pulled over his eyes, and his face was expressionless. Almost cold.

He really didn’t understand that dwarf.

-[]-[]-[]-

Bilbo had no idea where the animal came from, or why it decided to get friendly with the lambs ear, but he would deal with it later. Right now he had to finish planting the rose bush.  He wanted to put a few berry bushes beside it, and thought it would make a beautiful display of color next year. So he didn’t really have time to fuss at a dog who just wanted to rub his black, furry cheeks against the soft plant.

“Yes, you can ‘help’ Mister Baggins after lessons.” Ori’s voice drifted through the air with a hint of laughter, and Bilbo beamed at the realization that it was time for them to join his area. It was one of his favorite times of day. He looked up to watch them approach.

Kíli was in the front, his lips split in a wide grin, with Fíli trailing right behind him. Ori had his arms full of books and papers, when all three drew to a stop and Bilbo remembered his visitor.  

The reaction was instant, and nothing Bilbo could have ever expected.

Kíli screamed out at the top of his lungs and dropped to his knees with his fingers tangling in his hair. He curled in on himself, shrinking into as tight a ball as he could, sobbing. Fíli watched him with wide, horrified eyes, not moving.

Bilbo reacted on a deep instinct and surged forward. He crossed the garden with very few steps and dropped beside Kíli to gather in his arms. Ori, dropping his books and papers, wrangled the dog and dragged the frightened beast away while Bilbo pulled Kíli into his lap. He wrapped one arm around the lad’s back, and the other hand in his hair to press his head against Bilbo’s shoulder. Fíli jerked forward and froze, his eyes wider than Bilbo had ever seen them. Kíli was hyperventilating against him, and he needed to regain control of this deteriorating situation.

“Fíli,” he called softly, regaining the dwarfling’s attention while he pulled Kíli closer and soothed a hand through his riotous locks. “Fíli, get your uncle.” Fíli nodded his head and took a staggering step back. He blinked, tore his gaze away, and ran to the house with utter abandon.

Bilbo turned his attention the trembling, sobbing, and hyperventilating child in his arms. He cooed in Kíli’s ear and continued to comb fingers through his hair. It had been a long while since he’d dealt with someone suffering a panic attack, or evil dream, but the instincts were still there.

He should have _known_. He should have gotten rid of the dog before they’d arrived. He’d just enjoyed the silent company. He hadn’t thought it would remind poor Kíli of the attack that cost him his father.

“Kíli,” he called with as commanding a voice as he could, hoping to break through the childs panic. “Kíli, you are safe. You are safe and not in danger. I’ve got you, my lad.” He pressed his cheek against the brown hair and adjusted Kíli so that his chest was pressed more against Bilbos. He moved his shirt a bit, it had come partially unbuttoned in his scrambling, and he pressed Kíli’s ear against his heart. The trembling calmed a bit and Kíli’s arms wrapped around his chest. A little too tightly, but Bilbo was sturdy and didn’t mind.

He was getting dirt in his hair and on his clothes. Bilbo wasn’t certain why _that_ detail stood out.

“Remember the troll song I taught you?” He was given a faint nod, even if the lads breathing wasn’t quite right. “I’m going to sing it. I want you to exhale after the first beat, then inhale on the second. Keep alternating between exhaling and inhaling on the beats. Okay?” Another nod. Bilbo ran his hand up and down the small back and gathered his thoughts.

 _“Troll sat alone on his seat of stone,_   
_And munched and mumbled a bare old bone;_   
_For many a year he had gnawed it near,_   
_For meat was hard to come by._   
_Done by! Gum by!_   
_In a cave in the hills he dwelt alone,_   
_And meat was hard to come by._

 _Up came Tom with his big boots on._   
_Said he to Troll: "Pray, what is yon?_   
_For it looks like the shin o' my nuncle Tim,_   
_As should be a-lyin' in graveyard._   
_Caveyard! Paveyard!_   
_This many a year has Tim been gone,_   
_And I thought he were lyin' in graveyard."_

Kíli’s breathing was nearly normal, so Bilbo kept singing and rubbing his back. He could sense Ori coming back, and wondered how Fíli was doing with finding Thorin.

Another verse, and he tapped Kíli’s shoulder. “Sing with me now?” Kíli nodded his head, pressing his cheek closer against Bilbo’s chest. His voice was small and wavery, but it was still there.

 _Said Tom: "I don't see why the likes o' thee_   
_Without axin' leave should go makin' free_   
_With the shank or the shin o' my father's kin;_   
_So hand the old bone over!_   
_Rover! Trover!_   
_Though dead he be, it belongs to he;_   
_So hand the old bone over!"_

His voice grew stronger, and not as terrified, even if it was in elvish. Bilbo smiled and held him closer as they finished the song together. Ori took a seat beside them and laid his own hand on Kíli’s arm. He rubbed it in soothing strokes, humming softly in the back of his throat.

“There’s my lad.” Bilbo praised. He tilted Kíli’s head back a bit so he could see his eyes, and found that they weren’t as terrified. “You’re safe.” He brushed his thumb against Kíli’s cheek and smiled. “Say it with me?”

“Im beria.”

“Very good.”

Another dwarf dropped by his side, and then Thorin’s hands were on his shoulder and atop Kíli’s head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song used is actually by Sam in Fellowship of the Ring, but I think it fit the moment nicely :)


	5. Chapter 5

Kíli was taken back into the house by his Uncle, who gave Bilbo a long, calculating look. Fíli trailed after them, and both Ori and Bilbo had sat in silence for a few moments.

He wanted to follow. He hated seeing a child cry, but hearing one scream? It made his skin itch to run after Kíli and cradle him.

Ori’s lessons were canceled for the remainder of the day, and Bilbo was left to tend the garden alone. He distracted himself with the work, allowing his mind to focus on the methodical motions to keep himself from worrying about Kíli, or remembering similar occurrences. The sun had set and the cool light of the moon filled the sky before he realized just how late it was.

And that was only because he was interrupted.

Dwalin was a hard dwarf to miss, and anything but stealthy. He moved like a tumbling boulder. Purposefully, and with little care what he trod over. So it was a testament to the hobbit’s distraction that he didn’t notice the large dwarf until he was literally right in front of him.

“Mister Dwalin!” He gasped, sitting back and trying not to look embarrassed. He dusted his hands off to rid them of excess dirt and smiled.

“You missed dinner, halfling.” Dwalin pointed out with his blunt manner. His eyes were scanning the grounds as though he was looking for danger. Bilbo wondered what he had been through to be so suspicious. Wary of attack even in their home.

“I did?” Bilbo pushed off, dusting his hands off his pants now to rid them of still more dirt. He’d have to make himself a plate then. Bombur always left something out for him. They both enjoyed the hobbit meal plan more than the dwarven one. They’d dismiss themselves from the main room and enjoy a second dinner together. It was nice to spend time with someone who enjoyed food and good company without judging him for his hobbit appetite.

Dwalin’s gaze returned to him with a frown that drifted into a smile. “Yes, Thorin ordered a plate set aside for you. I was sent to fetch you when Dori couldn’t find you in your chambers.”

Bother. He’d troubled half the dwarves in the house then. That wouldn’t win him any favor.

“Thank you, I got a bit carried away.”

“I trust it’s coming along then?” His eyes scanned the garden again before lighting on something. His expression changed from the calculating look to something far softer.

“Yes?” The dwarf knelt by a bush and stood back up a moment later with a bag of yarn and needles. Ori’s. The dwarf had probably left it when he’d worried over Kíli. “Oh, Ori will be glad of that. I don’t know how he’d entertain himself by the fire without his knits.”

“He’d write.” Dwalin answered without thought. “He’s a fine poet.” He blinked, and probably realized he’d let a bit show. He thrust the bag at Bilbo with a glare. “Take this to the lad when you go inside.” He strode forward, brushing past Bilbo. “Best wash up or Dori will pitch a fit.”

Bilbo collected his remaining things and followed the dwarf into the house. His own lips were playing at a smile he couldn’t quite seem to get rid of as he went to wash his hands. He didn’t know what he was doing half the time in this great big house, but he loved moments like this.

It felt like being in a family again.

He went to the kitchen to take his meal and found both Bombur and Dori waiting in there. The conversation was easy, and the food good. Dori drank his tea while Bombur had his second dinner. They brought cake into the main sitting room for the other dwarves afterwards.  Bilbo took his usual seat by the fire, next to Ori, and passed the dwarf his bag.

“Thank you! I was wondering where I left it.”

“Dwalin found it and asked that I return it to you.” Biblo said nonchalantly. He smiled into his cup at the way Ori’s ears turned slightly red. He took out his own yarn and hook after a moment and went to work on the scarf he was making. It was refreshing to be around other males who also worked with yarn. Some in the Shire had looked at him oddly for enjoying the craft.

He could feel someone’s gaze on him. It was a constant prickle on the back of his neck, and a tiny tingle in his gut.

But everytime he looked up, no one was looking at him. The children had already been sent to bed, probably because of how tiring their day had been, and he missed their distracting presence.

He focused on the stitches, making a checkerboard pattern in the yarn as he let the voices fade into a constant hum around him. He was tired, and distracted by memory.

Today had reminded him of his father. He’d been prone to severe panic attacks, and terrible memories before he’d just faded away. Bilbo would wake up in the middle of the night to hear his screams filling their hobbit hole. He would go to his father and wake him, and then hold him until his sobbing subsided and he slipped back into more peaceful dreams.

Another glance proved that no one was looking at him, despite the persistent feeling.

Bilbo didn’t know what to do with Thorin either. He couldn’t understand him, and he hated not understanding someone. The other dwarves were simple enough to understand, and easier still to get along with. Thorin was quiet and brooding at one moment, then friendly and soothing the next.

Bilbo had made quite a lot of progress on the scarf, if not his thoughts, when Ori elbowed him. He blinked over at his friend and saw him nodding to Bofur who had curled up on the floor by Bifur’s feet. The dwarf was signing wildly in some secret language that Bofur was translating.

“Yes?”

“He wants to know where you learned the troll song.” Bofur translated with an amused smile.

“Oh, I made it up.” He shrugged one shoulder and lowered his crocheting. “Kíli was asking me about cave trolls and wanting a story so I just put a rhyme together.”

“You’re a wordsmith?” Thorin, to Bilbo’s surprise, asked. He nodded his head, smiling politely.

“I scribble a bit here and there. Nothing as lovely as Ori, but it’s a fun past time.”

“He’s being modest. He’s made up a good many things.” Ori stated, his cheeks only a little red from Bilbo’s praise. He made a mental note to tell the dwarf that Dwalin had said the same thing about him. He’d turn a magnificent red.

“Well, I get bored with silence. I tend to talk to myself, but you get strange looks if you carry on a conversation with a plant.”

“Indeed?” Thorin’s eyebrow raised again and the familiar sight made Bilbo relax a bit.

“Well, I tend to act as though they talk back.” A few dwarves chuckled and Bilbo found himself smiling along with them.

“It’s quite odd.” Ori assured them. Bilbo laughed and Ori beamed.

“So I switched to singing. I found myself singing about what I was doing, but that just made me look silly. So I made up songs about anything that would come to my mind.” He shrugged again. “It keeps children entertained if nothing else.”

“A valuable skill with my nephews.” Thorin might have been smiling, but it was mostly impossible to tell with the beard and distance. Bilbo let himself imagine that he was smiling solely because the dwarf was not as intimidating with a smile.

“You have not seen chaos until you’ve seen my cousins together at a jamming party.”

“A jamming party?” Dori asked, perking up with interest. It made Bilbo sit up more. He would have called Dori picking up on that.

He started to explain, looking down at his stitches and trying to ignore the feel of someone looking at him.

-[]-[]-[]-

Everyone else was already in bed, or headed that way when Bilbo and Ori finally called it quits.

“Did Kíli-”

“Kíli was upset you weren’t at dinner. He wanted to thank you. I think Fíli wants to build a monument to you.” Ori laid a hand on his shoulder and held his gaze with a very serious one. “That was well handled. He hasn’t seen a dog since the attack with his father.”

“I thought as much. Is anyone staying with him tonight?”

“Fíli is sharing his room. Balin moved to the connecting chamber for the rest of the week.”

“Good.”

“You’ll attend breakfast tomorrow.” Thorin stated, and Bilbo hadn’t realized he was standing behind them. He started at the unexpected voice, and then frowned at the order.

“I will?”

“Yes.” Thorin gave his head a decisive nod and eyed Bilbo as though he was trying to understand him. As though he was a lock that needed to be picked.

“Alright then.” Ori stood stiffly by his side, not saying anything. After a moment Bilbo smiled and gave his head a nod. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He turned to Ori only to be stopped by Thorin’s voice again.

“I’ll accompany you upstairs, hobbit.” Ori made to dismiss himself, but Bilbo latched onto his arm unashamedly. He was not going to spend more time alone with Thorin. Not after the day he’d had.

“Thank you, sir.” Ori took the hint and moved closers. His fingers drummed against the wool of his breeches while he avoided Thorin’s heavy gaze. Bilbo joined him in the avoiding, and the trio started for the stairs.

It was awkward. Painfully, obviously, breath-hitching, awkward. He wanted to dash away and leave it behind but couldn’t.

Once they reached the third floor  - the floor the servants slept on - Ori gave Bilbo’s arm a friendly squeeze and shrugged his own arm out of Bilbo’s grip. “Thanks,” he stammered as he backed away. He had his tunic fisted in his left hand and his right palm flat against the wall. His braids danced around his head as he looked to see if anyone else was around, “I’ll just, um, go now.” Then, the traitor, dashed away.

Bilbo twisted his head towards Thorin and found the dwarf glowering. He quickly looked back ahead and swallowed.

He had _horrible_ luck.

“You are to the left, correct?”

“What? Oh, yes.” He turned towards his hall and Thorin fell into step with him. The dwarf kept his hands clasped behind his back, standing tall and proud. He looked noble and somehow removed. Like he didn’t fully belong in the mansion. Certainly not beside Bilbo.

“I’m sorry about the dog.”

“It was quite an odd occurrence. No one on my lands owns a dog. They know of what happened and have been ordered to keep any such beast away. As such, I would expect a stray, yet Ori said that it was a well bred thing. That its fur was clean and glossy. It had been taken care of.” The dwarf frowned, his eyes narrowing and brow furrowed.

“You think it was deliberate?” Bilbo couldn’t really decide if it was a question or statement. It was obvious in Thorin’s expression that he believed it was deliberate, but he couldn’t understand why someone would do such a thing.

“I must think it deliberate. My family has many enemies, those who would do any of us harm.” He shook his head, and Bilbo couldn’t help but feel that the shadows left by the scattered torch lights grew longer. The hall didn’t feel as safe. “It is an ill omen regardless.”

“They would have to know Kíli would be the one they hurt.” Bilbo blurted, his gut churning. Who would deliberately try and frighten a child?

“Yes, Master Baggins. They would.” Thorin’s tone held a dark promise, and it should have been frightening. Instead Bilbo remembered Kíli’s cry of anguish and the way he’d trembled in Bilbo’s arm.

And if anything? The tone wasn’t dark enough. Hobbits were gentle, peace-loving creatures. It was widely known, and they were often teased for it. No one messed with their children though. Even a bear wouldn’t protect her babe as hard a hobbit would.

“Thank you, hobbit. We will talk again.” Then Thorin was bowing and leaving down the path they’d just come from, leaving Bilbo alone at his door, wary, and more confused than ever.

-[]-[]-[]-

He had dark dreams that night, and it wasn’t until Kíli and Fíli both gave him a hug the next morning that he felt brighter. He escorted the children to breakfast and ate with them, offering conversation after his cup of tea.

The days began to melt into each other once more, and what was left of the week, and the  next, flew by. The garden passed the review (which mostly consisted of Thorin listening to Bilbo’s plans and nodding. There had been a grunt of acknowledgement, then the dwarf had left him to continue working) and he let himself slip into the comfort of a steady routine. He marked a month at the strange manor, then two, and three.

He continued to study his house-mates and ignored the feeling of being watched. He was still different, after all, and bound to be at least a bit of an oddity for a while longer.

He planted new things every day, and tended to the old, and very old, with all the care he had. As the days passed and spring brought the garden to full bloom, dwarves started to litter about while he worked. Not just Ori, Dwalin, Fíli, and Kíli with the daily lessons. Balin would take his afternoon smoke with Dori on the bench under the oak tree. Óin would poke around the plants and ask about the qualities of different ones. Bombur was usually bringing him an afternoon snack about that time and would always end up chuckling as Bilbo shouted out different attributes to Óin.

Bofur would cut through the garden on his way to visit his cousin and brother, and then drag said cousin out to the garden. He chatted with Bilbo while Bifur went to random flowers that were just starting to bloom and inhale their scent with a gentleness that made something in Bilbo’s chest tighten.

Glóin would drift out in the evenings and stand near Bilbo with the pretense of checking the grounds. He would chat about the latest happenings with his wife and child. He always nodded politely, and inquired at the right points. He was used to listening to ramblings about family and enjoyed the companionship.

Then there was Thorin. He’d learn in his time at the mansion that Thorin had four basic sides. There was the quiet studious dwarf who always seemed to appear at night and breakfast. He was a sober thing that was always watching, clearly thinking and learning. Then there was the angry and closed off dwarf. He was Bilbo’s least favorite, and was prone to show up at any point with no real indication that he was coming. There was the leader, who was strong, noble, and trustworthy. He could steal Bilbo’s breath, and make him feel very insignificant, while also making him feel the urge to follow the taller dwarf in whatever his task. Last, and least likely to appear, was the caring dwarf. He was Bilbo’s favorite by far. He only appeared around Thorin’s nephews, and occasionally with Balin and Dwalin. He could be glimpsed when Thorin passed Dori a cup of chamomile, or tossed an extra scone at Bombur. He remembered, and cared, and had soft eyes that captivated Bilbo.

Thorin, and all four of his sides, made random stops by the garden. Occasionally he would appear multiple times a day, and then some days he wouldn’t appear at all.

When he did appear, he would do one of three things. He would walk by the fountain where the forget-me-nots were growing, he would chat with Bilbo, or he would stand siffly near Bilbo and not say anything.

Bilbo obviously preferred the first two. He became far clumsier when Thorin just stood.

Balin was smoking his pipe under the tree, alone this time as Dori was in town on apparent urgent business, and humming quietly. Bilbo was picking vegetables and trying to think of a more clever way to keep rabbits out of his garden.

Thorin was wondering around the fountain in the distance. He’d come out of the house with a scowl but it had softened into resignation while he walked.

“For someone that declared gardens useless, he certainly spends a fair bit of time out here.” Bilbo observed as he passed his basket of vegetables from one arm to the other.

Balin exhaled a ring of smoke and watched it fade into the air with a distant look. “It was his mother’s garden. She loved dirt and flowers. She was gifted with earth and could bring life from it where no other dwarrow could. He would follow after her whenever she tended the plants, and take his lessons out here.”

“Yavanna’s cherry bushes! Why didn’t anyone tell me this was her garden?” He sucked in a breath, horribly scandalized. If someone had gone poking around in his mother’s garden, he’d hit them with the nearest tool. Let alone someone he didn’t know, and who had never gotten his permission!

That had been the hardest part of selling Bag-End. Knowing that some other hobbit would tear down her plants and do whatever they wanted to it. It had felt like betrayal. He’d had no choice, of course, but it had _hurt_.

“You didn’t need to know.” Was Balin’s answer before the elder dwarf was standing up and tapping out his pipe. “Keep up with the good work.” And then he was leaving, and it was only Thorin and Bilbo in the garden. Bilbo watched him go with an open, gaping mouth and a strong feeling of indignation that wouldn’t leave.  

His gaze drifted back to Thorin, who was standing with his back to Bilbo, peering over the lands behind the garden. A strong feeling of guilt settled in his stomach, and he set the vegetables on the ground. He picked his way across the ground carefully and quietly until he was standing behind Thorin.

“Hobbit.”

“Sir,” Bilbo started, and then stopped. He bit his lip and tried to figure out how to word what he wanted to say.

“I find the view helps to settle my tumultuous thoughts.”

“I always find that gardens help me to think. There’s something about the simple work that’s relaxing and wonderful for clearing my mind.”  Bilbo returned easily. Thorin kept his gaze straight ahead, noble, and powerful, and thoughtful. Utterly fascinating and terribly different from anything Bilbo had known. It made what he wanted to say feel pointless, but he would say it nonetheless.

“Balin told me this was your mother’s garden?” Thorin’s entire body stiffened while Bilbo watched. They were utterly silent for a moment, the only other sounds the sweep of easy wind and a bird calling for a mate. Then the tension seemed to flow out of Thorin’s body.

“It was.” Any suspicions Bilbo had about his mother vanished. The words were sorrowful in a way that only someone who had lost their parent in a bad way could manage.

“I’m sorry I didn’t know. It must have been beautiful.”

“It was.” A pause and then: “you said your mother gardened?”

“Dad had to drag her away from it.” His tone held the same note of sorrow Thorin’s had, and the dwarf shared a look with him that made Bilbo feel a kinship. One of sorrow and understanding.

And then the dwarf was once again hiding his face behind a mask and heading towards the house. Bilbo carefully collected his vegetables back up and tried not to sigh.

Perhaps he should just stop trying to understand.

His basket was half full when the hairs on the back of his head bristled, and he knew he was being watched.

But not from the house.


	6. Chapter 6

Bilbo turned on his heel as quick he could, and didn’t mind that his vegetables were tumbling into each other in the basket.

His eyes darted to and fro, landing on the woods that lined the south edge of the garden and lingering there. He couldn’t see through them, but he thought-

Yes! There was a brief flash of color. Red, unless Bilbo was color blind. He took half a step towards it, and then stopped.

_I must think it deliberate. My family has many enemies…_

He carefully set the basket back down on the ground and straightened up, grabbing the garden trowel as he did so.  Bilbo then swallowed, his heart starting to rabbit in his chest, and stepped forward. He gripped the jade handle of his tool a little more tightly and quickened his pace.

It was probably just a cardinal, but he was terrified for no real reason. He just felt like he was in danger. The same unease he’d felt when Thorin had mentioned enemies had firmly gripped his chest.

He was nearly at the woods edge when he saw another flash of red, and heard a whirring noise.

The impact was nearly as immediate as the whirring noise had been. One moment he was striving forward, and the next moment someone was shouting and there was something piercing through his arm.

Pain, like nothing he had ever felt, soared through Bilbo’s body and he fell to his knees. He gasped violently, shaking and choking on the air. His eyes darted to his arm, but he couldn’t make them focus properly. He could tell something was sticking out of it, something brown with a red end, but he couldn’t figure out what it was.

He gazed back at the woods in haze, but the red he’d seen earlier was gone. They were blurring together, and he could feel something warm and wet sliding down his arm. He gasped sharply, and tried to push himself back up. He needed to get up, to get back to the house-

-there was a dull thunk as something hit him in the back of the head. He lost his vision and fell against the hard earth.

-[]-[]-[]-

There were several moments of near waking. He could recall shapes and colors moving over him. Harsh words, quiet commands, barked orders..

When he fully woke it was to a slightly hazy feeling that poppy juice always gave. His brow furrowed in confusion as to why he would need poppy juice, and there was a sudden hand on his forehead.

“Master Baggins? Can you hear me?” Óin’s voice was gruff as ever, and it seemed to bounce around in Bilbo’s head for a moment before it fully clicked.

“Yes.” There was a commotion on the other side of the bed, and a little of the fuzzy feeling evaporated.

His arm ached.

“Follow my finger.” The thick digit was stuck in front of his nose, and then moved to the left and right. Bilbo followed it dutifully.  “Very good. Now blink twice.” Bilbo did and Óin nodded again. “Very well. Any aches other than your arm?”

“My head is fuzzy.” The bed dipped by his feet and he started to look but Óin caught his chin before he could.

“No! Don’t move just yet.” He released Bilbo’s chin and sat up higher on the bed to better look at Bilbo. “Head injuries are tricky things, and Thorin moved you before I got on the scene.”

“To be fair, he wasn’t certain the attacker had left.” A voice near the foot of the bed, that sounded an awful lot like Balin, stated.

“What happened?” Bilbo asked, smacking his lips. His throat was rather dry.

“You were shot.” The voice, that was definitely Balin, moved closer. The white-haired dwarf filled his vision and Bilbo blinked in surprise. A moment later and he remembered.

“Aye,” Óin said before poking his arm. It hurt enough that Bilbo bit his lip to keep any noise in. His face contorted, but Óin didn’t seem to notice. “I’ve done all I can for now. I’ll fetch you a glass of water now to take care of that throat.” The dwarf pushed off the bed and it was just Bilbo and Balin.

“The others will be glad you’re awake. Took Óin most of yesterday to get them out of your room so you could rest.” The elderly dwarf laid a hand on his uninjured arm and squeezed gently. “Do you remember anything?”

Bilbo’s brow furrowed and he dropped his gaze to the blanket. “I felt like I was being watched. When I turned to look, I saw red.”

“Did your vision slowly bleed red, or was it sudden?”

“Oh, no. I mean I saw a flash of red. In the woods. I went to investigate and then the pain hit.”

"Thorin expected as much. He heard your yell first and ran to your aid. Though, I must admit, we didn’t expect the tip to be poisoned." Balin sighed. He sat back a bit and frowned at the wall. "There hasn't been an attack in nearly a year. I had hoped..."

"Why would someone attack?"

"They likely thought you were a guard. Sorry, laddie. We should have warned you not to go poking around if you hear something suspicious."

"You mean that's happened before?"

"That's why we have Glóin, Gardener."

Bilbo hadn't heard Thorin enter the room, and he jerked at the sudden sound of him. Balin tsked sharply and grabbed his arm to hold him still.

"None of that now! Óin will have my beard if he thinks we caused you to injure yourself."

"Peace, Balin. The fault was mine." Thorin inclined his head respectfully and fully entered the room with purposeful, powerful strides. Bilbo still felt lightheaded and wasn't prepared to talk with the dwarf.

"Your indulgence, Master Baggins, I merely wished to see if you were well."

"Much better, thank you. I was told it was you that took me back to the house?"

"It was." The dwarf's shoulders were tense and his gaze kept tracing up and down Bilbo's body before lighting on his arm. His gaze seemed to darken at every pass.

"Then you have my thanks, sir."

“Thanks are not necessary. It should never have happened.” His hand rested on the bed near Bilbo’s injured arm. The bandage looked very white against the blue blanket he had over his chest. Thorin’s eyes wouldn’t move past it. “The fault lies entirely with us.” His fingers brushed against the blanket, just short of touching Bilbo’s arm. “Will you remain here?”

Bilbo’s eyes widened and his mind finally seemed to turn on. “I didn’t plan on going anywhere.” There wasn’t anywhere to go. He’d been hurt, but he was alive. They would surely put some sort of measures forward so that he wasn’t injured again. After all, they wouldn’t leave the children outside if it was too dangerous. Bilbo had no doubts about that.

Thorin inclined his head, and Bilbo caught a brief glimpse of blue eyes that were filling with emotion. “Thank you. I will make certain that you are accompanied by a guard at all times.”

“Did you find who it was?”

“No!” Óin barked from the door and then stomped into the room with water splashing out of his glass.”None of that now. My patient needs to rest and recover. I’ll not have you stressing him out.” The glass was thrust into his hand as Thorin nodded his head. He took a step back, but not before his fingers brushed against Bilbo’s lower, un-bandaged arm.

The water was refreshing, but it didn’t aid the strange flutter in his chest.

-[]-[]-[]-

He moved to the kitchen the next day. He wasn’t allowed to work again until tomorrow, but Óin had finally relented and allowed him free roam of the house.

The arrow that he’d been hit with had been dipped in a poison, ‘mabarâl khul’ that was apparently meant to put a dwarf to sleep. The shooter wouldn’t have accounted for Bilbo’s smaller mass, or his physical differences. Óin had been very worried for his well-being.   

He currently was nursing a cup of tea and a cherry tart. Dwalin, Ori, Dori, and Bombur were with him. Bombur was clearing the dishes from their evening meal while the other three were taking a moment to relax. That was their excuse anyway. From the way they kept shooting him gazes, he suspected it was simply that they were worried for him. He could hear voices coming from the other room, so he knew the usual nights merriments were still going on. It was late, the sun had already set and the children sent upstairs, but Bilbo didn’t want to retire. He hated bedrest. It reminded him of his mother before the winter illness had finally claimed her bright life.

“This all has to be terribly unexpected.” Dori noted after a moment, his concerned gaze on Bilbo. He apparently hadn’t noticed that Dwalin’s hand was inching towards Ori’s drumming fingers. Had something happened there while he was out?

“I should have expected something after the way Gloin and Balin ran to my aid the night Tho- er- Master Thorin returned.” He shrugged his shoulders and drew his tea a little nearer. “And, that’s the thing about adventures, isn’t it?” He took a quick bite of his tart and made a note to get the recipe from Bombur. The tea had been prescribed by Óin but the dwarf would probably disapprove of the tart.  “They always start with the unexpected. I was in need of a good adventure. It's the Took in me. I have a bit of Fairy blood from them. That's the rumor anyway. ”

“Is the Shire terribly dull?” Ori asked, ever curious. Dwalin’s hand slipped under his, and the younger dwarf clasped their fingers together with a shy, small smile. It was extremely gutsy with Dori sitting so near.

Not that he really knew anything about dwarven courtships. Still, he was aware that Dori was the strongest dwarf in the house, and could lift Dwalin over his head. That was reason enough to be cautious.

“I wouldn’t say dull… More, complacent. Hobbits go on as they have since they settled there, with no real change. They don’t desire anything different because they don’t know anything different. Adventures of any sort are quite fun to read about, but terribly scandalous to actually have. The Tooks are the ‘wild’ bunch, and regularly do things like swimming and boating. It’s peaceful and fun, but can leave one longing for just a little bit more.” He smiled softly into his tea cup.

“Everything is green, full of life. You can see the Blue Mountains in the distance, and the bog is on the other side. Bird songs fill the air, and laughter is always present. Good food can be found and had at any time, along with a story and song. There was nothing quite like retiring under the Party tree with a mug of ale and a pipe after a hards day work.”

“That sounds nice.” Ori hummed, propping his head on his free hand. He had a slightly dreamy look on his face and Dwalin’s soft expression didn’t pass by Bilbo. Dori continued to drink his own tea, unaware of what was happening behind him.

“Why did you leave? I hardly think someone as well bred as your self just found himself longing for an adventure.” Dori’s eyes were inquisitive and his expression malice free, but it didn’t ease the ache that rose in Bilbo’s chest.

“My mother was struck with a terrible illness in the winter and died from it. I lost my father soon after. I had to sell the house to pay off debts, and there wasn’t anything left for me there. I decided to seek my fortune elsewhere. I stayed in Bree for a while, but there wasn’t much work. It was a great relief when I saw Balin’s ad.”

“I’m sorry,” Dori laid his hand on top of Bilbo’s and gave it a squeeze. His eyes were sorrowful, and Bilbo had a feeling he’d also lost his mother young.

“Are you still down here?” Óin huffed as he made his way into the room. Bilbo looked over to watch him, and found his breath catching. Thorin was leaning against the doorway.

How long had he been there?

“I wanted you to go to bed an hour ago. There’s nothing for it now. Did you finish that tea?” His eyes darted around the table, and he frowned at the cherry tart.

“Yes, though I’ve had better.” Óin shook his head, but a smile played on his lips.

“Cheeky! It’s a sedative. It’ll help you sleep the night through. Do not do anything heavy tomorrow, or you’ll feel my wrath.” Bilbo made to get out of the chair and winced when he accidentally put too much pressure on his arm. Ori shot up and started towards him.

“I will escort Mister Bilbo back to his room.” Thorin quietly intoned, though his rumbling voice carried through the entire room. Óin nodded his head and Ori sat back down with wide eyes. Bilbo stood up stiffly, and suddenly Thorin had a hand on his arm and on his back and was helping him stand up.

It felt like everyone was watching.

“Thank you, sir.” They made their way out of the room, with Thorin taking a bit of his weight even though Bilbo really didn’t need that much assistance. Thorin’s hands were large and warm, and surprisingly gentle against him. He could feel the dwarf restraining himself from pressing too hard and marveled at how strong he had to be.

"Are you sore?" Thorin asked suddenly. Bilbo blinked up at him. "You are hunching. Are you sore? I can have Óin summoned to give you more of his draught."

"No," Bilbo stood straighter and tried to smile but it came out more painful than he’d intended. "I just have a lot on my mind."

"Speak then," Thorin ordered with his usual abruptness, "and I will listen."

“I’m just wondering if I’ve taken on more than I should. I mean… I’m just a hobbit.”

“A knowledgeable gardener with excellent instincts, and a caring heart. You are loyal, and have honor. I see no ‘just.”’

Bilbo’s eyes widened and his heart thumped in his chest. Thorin’s eyebrows rose at Bilbo’s expression and he stopped walking forward. A scowl replaced the previously careful expression. “Do you doubt me?”

“What? No! I just… well, I was surprised.” He smiled, and this time it didn’t come out oddly, just a little too large. He couldn’t quite seem to control its size, and he found himself very aware of the places where Thorin was still holding him. The brightness that had lit the dwarf’s eyes when they first met was back. They continued down the hall and Bilbo tried to remain standing straight.

“Have there been a lot of attacks?”

“I have had twenty-three separate attacks on my life that Dwalin did not catch in their infancy.”

“So many?” Bilbo blurted, his heart now beating double time. His breath gasped out and he couldn’t help but notice the scars on Thorin’s rugged face again. How many more decorated his body than Bilbo could see?

“I have a long lineage, and powerful birth-right. I have been envied since I was a babe.” He shrugged one shoulder and aided Bilbo up the stairs with more care than was strictly needed. “That is why I surround myself with loyal dwarrows. Why I am so suspicious of strangers.” He studied Bilbo in the dim light, and Bilbo wondered what all he could read on his face. He’d never been terribly good at hiding his thoughts. “Does that scare you?”

“Not scare exactly... upset? No one should have to be so cautious.”

“It is the curse of my birth.” Thorin stated with a finality that broke Bilbo’s heart a little. They turned down the hall that his room was on, and Bilbo couldn’t think of anything to say to break the heavy silence. He’d forgotten just how little he actually knew about the dwarves he lived with. At least about their past. When they finally did reach the room he tried not to sigh. Thorin tugged the door open, and released Bilbo.

His fingers trailed down Bilbo’s arm, brushing against the bandage with the lightest of touches. “Make certain that Óin changes this before you work tomorrow. You are not to work a full day just yet.” He paused and dropped his hand. Bilbo felt oddly chilly without the dwarf so near. “When you are healed, I should like you to take lessons with Dwalin on basic self defense. You have good instincts, but that will not be enough.”

“Lessons?”

“Basic hand to hand. If there is more trouble, we will add weapon training.”

He didn’t know how he felt about that. “Thank you for the aid, and for rescuing me yesterday.”

Thorin bowed slightly, dipping his head. His locks fell over his shoulder and Bilbo couldn’t stop watching the way it flowed. “It was my pleasure, khulgalab.” Bilbo frowned at the unknown words and managed to return his gaze to Thorin’s face just as the dwarf stood. He smiled, and stepped back. He left down the hall without explaining himself, and Bilbo’s heart thumped as he walked away.

Bilbo then shut the door to his room very carefully and tripped the lock. He padded across the floor to his bed and sat at the foot of it, with his hands neatly folded into his lap. He stared at the wall and thought.

At some point, when he hadn’t been paying attention, he had started to fall for Thorin. The emotion was trying to be a light, fluttering feeling in his chest, but it was a lie. There would be nothing light, or fluttery about falling for Thorin.

Of all the foolhardy things for a Baggins to do! Thorin was his master and that meant he could not really even talk to him. He was a servant. He had not real status, no money, and nothing but a few fragments of a broken heart to offer.

He would keep his feelings-however ridiculous they were-to himself. No one else needed to know.

The blankets and pillows didn’t feel as soft as they had in previous nights. 


	7. Chapter 7

Bilbo was aware, all through the next day, of Thorin’s eyes anytime they were on his small frame. He found himself listening more attentively, and wondering more than ever what the dwarf’s past had been.

His heart nearly beat its way out of his chest when Thorin passed him the raspberry preserves, which he remembered Bilbo enjoying, with a smile.

He managed to escape breakfast without burning up from his hot cheeks, and immediately headed for the quiet peace of his garden. Glóin followed him outside, but didn’t say anything. He seemed to know that Bilbo’s head was not in a place for talking. Still, his silent presence was reassuring every time Bilbo’s arm ached with reminder of what had just happened in the seemingly peaceful garden.

He wasn’t certain if the feeling of being watched was paranoia, or whatever had been lurking in the woods. It made him shiver in something like fright any time he thought about it. A more sensible hobbit would have just gone inside.

Bilbo was not going to be frightened from his garden, thank you very much.

It took a bit more thinking to work without both hands operating properly. He couldn’t put his weight on the other hand so he had to move more slowly. The familiarity of the work, and the freshness of the growing life comforted him immensely. He’d worried that the attack would ruin the garden for him. That he wouldn’t be able to go outside without remembering the pain and fear. He was indescribably happy that wasn’t the case.

He took a break when Ori and the children came out for their exercises. He put his tools aside and joined Ori on the bench under the oak tree. He’d barely situated himself when he noticed Dwalin shooting Ori long looks between bouts with the children, and examined the smaller dwarf to see why Dwalin would be so blatant.

Ori had a new braid.

Bilbo studied it for a few minutes. It was made with seven strands, complicatedly woven and twisted to form a lovely piece. It would have taken Bilbo forever to mimic, but he’d seen how quickly the dwarves could braid. For their fingers to be so large, they were very dexterous. The braid was held clasped by a bead that Bilbo had never seen him wear before. It didn’t match the style of his other silver beads. “That’s a lovely bead.” And it was. It was made of iron, with an opal and tiny ruby set in. “Is it new?”

Ori instantly blushed a vibrant, and endearing red. He dropped three stitches with a jolt of his needles, and nearly knocked his roll of yarn off the bench. “Oh!” he squeaked, “yes. I-um-received it this morning.” His ears burned red and he dropped his gaze to his knitting. It was a new piece, and not far enough along for Bilbo to hazard a guess for what it would be. Dwalin’s eyes landed on Ori again, and the grin he gave at the sight of Ori’s red cheeks was almost predatorial.

Bilbo felt his eyebrow raise. Something had most definitely happened.

Ori recovered his stitches, and a small, sweet smile graced his lips. “Dwalin opened a courtship with me. Dori’s even given his permission for it. Grudgingly of course.” He looked at Bilbo, and the hobbit had never seen his friend’s eyes quite so bright. He looked immensely happy and Bilbo was incapable of not beaming with him.

He ignored the slight ache in his own chest and focused on filling his pipe. He only had a little of the pipeweed he’d gotten from the Shire left, and he had no doubt he’d miss it sorely when it was gone. It’d be one more piece of his home he’d miss. The weed the dwarves smoked was far harsher smelling and turned his stomach.

“How does that work then? Does he ask and then braid, or braid and then ask?”

“Neither. A dwarf presents their intended with an item from their trade-if they have one - somehow combined with one from their intended’s trade. Once the intended accepts the gift, then they’re allowed to braid each others hair.”

Bilbo frowned and lit his pipe while he considered that. “Dwalin’s a body guard?”

“Warrior.” Ori confirmed, nodding his head and starting another row. His feet tapped against the ground and he kept flashing smiles at Dwalin.

“So how did that work?” Ori flushed again, but he looked very proud.

“Dwalin wrote me a poem.” He would pay money to hear that. It had to be hilarious. Endearing, of course, but hilarious. He probably got quite a ribbing from Thorin and Balin. Bother his arm and the need to sleep later. He’d missed quite a show.

Bilbo leaned back against the bench and sent a smoke ring into the air. “He said you were a fine poet. I’m guessing it had something to do with battle.” He received a nod. “I’m surprised it took so long, to be honest. It was obvious he fancied you from the moment I met him.”

Ori beamed, and his eyes shot to Dwalin with a wistful look. “Fancy’s such an odd word, isn’t it?” He asked, his voice a low murmur. “It doesn’t come near to describing what it really is. It doesn’t describe the elation or fluttering in your chest. It doesn’t describe the pain that happens every time they leave, or you find yourself thinking about them.”

And that was extremely on point. A little too on point for Bilbo’s comfort.

Ori looked up suddenly, his eyes curious. “How do hobbits court?”

“Flowers and dancing feature heavily. You present your sweetheart with a flower-they mean different things depending on your area- and then ask for a dance. If your desired gives you a flower in return, you’re allowed to open the courtship.” He thought of his cousins dancing with flower crowns and smiled a little wistfully. Drogo and Primula had been a joy to watch. They’d helped to ease the ache in his heart as his mother had started to grow ill.

“Have you had many suitors then?”

“Me?” Bilbo spluttered, coughing on a bit of smoke. Ori patted his back and Dwalin looked over at them with a frown of concern. Bilbo waved Dwalin off and straightened up with one final, ungraceful hack. “Goodness no. I was a bit of an oddity at the Shire. I had a few dalliances in my youth, but nothing very serious.” He shrugged and took another tentative drag of his pipe.

“Right on time.” Ori mumbled to himself, his eyes on the door to the mansion. It was opening and Thorin was walking out. Bilbo didn’t think he was supposed to hear Ori, but he didn’t pay the words much attention anyway. His heart was doing its level best to beat its way out of his chest, and his cheeks were flushing while his hands started to twitch around his pipe.

He should probably be working. It would hardly do for him to be seen just sitting around. Granted, there were tools laying near the plant he had been tending, and it was clear he’d worked on several items today… but he felt like he was lazy.

He also didn’t want to just be sitting somewhere that Thorin could join him, but he really kind of did. He didn’t want his swirling thoughts anymore and the idea of holding a trowel and digging into the confusion-free dirt sounded like a very nice idea indeed.

Bilbo stood up as casually as he could and stretched, trying to look nonchalant. He smiled at Ori, who smirked and ducked his head to concentrate on his knitting. What?

Never mind. He wandered over to the plant he’d been working on, pointedly avoiding looking in Thorin’s direction.

“Bilbo!” Which wasn’t apparently going to matter. Thorin’s booming voice echoed across the previously quiet garden and made Bilbo freeze in a way that was very much not voluntary. His heart rate kicked up, and his palms turned sweaty and clammy.

He rather hated himself.

Bilbo turned towards Thorin with a mildly manic smile and tapped out his pipe. “Yes, sir?” Thorin crossed the garden with long strides that made him seem all the more powerful.

“You are going to accompany me on a walk around the garden. I want to make certain the grounds are secure. You need a lesson on looking.” It was not at all a question and that was certainly normal enough; Thorin did not ask when he could order and he did not implore when he could demand.

It shouldn’t have been endearing. It shouldn’t have made Bilbo want to laugh, because Thorin could not be much more uninformed on how to handle social interactions.

“Of course.” He softened his smile a little and shoved his pipe into his pocket. Thorin reached him and waited patiently with fiery eyes. The dwarf took off once he reached Thorin’s side, and Bilbo dutifully followed. Thorin slowed just enough so they were side by side, and they went towards the woods. He could feel Ori, Dwalin, and the children watching them.

“How has your morning gone?”

“Well, sir. Thankfully it was my left hand that was injured, so my work hasn’t slowed down terribly.” They were nearly at the woods, and they seemed dark and dangerous to Bilbo. Far more so than they had ever before.

He didn’t expect the gentle hand on his arm. “You do not have to work at all. If you need extra days- if you are in any pain at all- let me know?”

“Oh, I…” Bilbo swallowed thickly and forced his mind off the light touch and onto the subject at hand. “I like the work. And I’m well enough, sir. Thank you.” He added as an after thought. Thorin smiled, a barely discernible quirk of his lips, and Bilbo returned it.

“My nephews were very pleased to see you at breakfast. You were missed this past day.”

“You mentioned that you’d had attempts on your life since you were a child. Have your staff?”

Thorin nodded, and the pleasant light in his eyes seemed to dim. His expression became stony and he turned it onto the path in front of them. It made a tender part of Bilbo’s heart hurt. One that never stopped aching for others misfortunes. His father had said it was the part that loved and lost his mother.

Thorin’s gaze was one that had seen people he cared for hurt. He wouldn’t ask anything further.

“It is my intention that everyone who resides in my house, whether servant or guest, should know how to strike.”

Bilbo’s eyes widened in surprise and he turned his head away. Strictly speaking, he didn’t approve of violence. As a hobbit, it was in his nature to prefer peace and words over battles and violence.

“You disapprove?” They stopped walking. Trees surrounded them in their soft shade, their limbs and leaves swaying in the wind. He turned towards Thorin and met his gaze head on. It was humbling to have the dwarf focusing on him. Everything about him spoke of status and strength, of raw power.

Thorin stepped nearer, and Bilbo didn’t back away despite how hard his heart seemed to suddenly beat. “When we are hit, should we not strike out hard enough to make certain our attacker never strikes us again?” He loomed over Bilbo, who did not mind as much as he should. He didn’t mind at all.

“I don’t know… It seems like everyone would just end up bruised. Still, you shouldn’t let someone bully you.” He dutifully lowered his eyes and murmured. “You are the master as well. Whatever you wish will be done.”

“Whatever I wish?”

“Of course.” Thorin stepped even nearer and Bilbo didn’t know what to do. He felt oddly aware of every inch of his body, but extremely incapable of controlling any of it.

“And what if it were something absurd? Would wealth and status make another my slave?”

“I don’t believe that there is anything that can make another submit that fully. There certainly isn’t for me.” He risked a glance and found that Thorin’s rugged face had gone soft. His eyes were warm and it made Bilbo’s heart hitch in a terribly painful way that made him want to gasp. “Besides, I highly doubt you would ever wish for something absurd, sir.”

Yavanna help him, he was _flirting_. He straightened up and tried to smile normally, but his lips wouldn’t quite work properly.

“I do not think you’ve any idea what I might wish.” Thorin rumbled and his voice was a deep note that seemed to make Bilbo’s legs unsteady.

Thorin turned to start walking and Bilbo did as well, only his legs didn’t quite get the message in time. He lurched forward and started to fall. Then Thorin’s hands were on him and he was being pulled back into a very impressive chest and held still. He gasped out in mild shock, and fright before drawing in another breath. Thorin, despite his speed, had managed to avoid his injured arm.

And he wasn’t letting go.

“You smell of daisies,” Thorin observed, his nose brushing through Bilbo’s curls, “with a hint of rain.” Bilbo shuddered and tried to make his mind work. He felt hazy, as if he were back on poppy juice. This couldn’t be normal.

“I, er, I was planting daisies?”

Thorin, apparently convinced he was once again steady, released Bilbo and stepped back. Bilbo remained still for a heartbeat, trying to calm himself and forget the way Thorin’s hands had felt. He exhaled and turned. “Thank you for your aid, sir.”

“I will not let you fall, Bilbo, men khulgalab.”

“Khulgalab?” He only stumbled a slight bit over the foreign word. It felt strange in his mouth, and didn’t sound nearly as pleasant as when Thorin spoke it. But Khuzdul belonged on Thorin’s tongue. The dwarf took the harsh syllables and made them low, full of power and purpose.

“A name for you. It means plant speaker.” Bilbo laughed, loudly and freely. He felt lighter than he had in a long time and he thought he might burst from the sensation. Thorin watched him as he laughed, his eyes bright and intent. It was several moments before Bilbo regained himself.

“And the other word?”

Thorin smiled, and Bilbo would classify it as playful. He felt positively giddy himself. “I will not say.”

-[]-[]-[]-

Thorin walked him back to others and left to tend to his business. He walked Bilbo to his room that night, and Bilbo dreamed things he couldn’t remember, but left him waking with a smile. He both wanted and feared to see Thorin again. He wanted to hear his deep voice again, yet feared to meet his powerful eyes.

Still, he put on his nicer clothes, brushed the fur on his feet, and straightened his curls until they hung more neatly.

He couldn’t quite seem to stop humming or smiling.

He went downstairs, still in the happy haze, and wrangled the kids. Kili wrapped his arm around Bilbo’s waist in an affectionate hug, and Fili grabbed his hand to ‘lead’ him to the dining room.

The euphoric cloud his mind seemed to be living on drifted away the minute the door was fully open. Thorin wasn’t seated at his usual spot, neither was Dwalin, and both their places had not been set up.

Balin noticed his gaze and set his mug aside. “The Master’s gone off on a bit of business. He should be back later today.” Balin took a sip of his liquid and closed his eyes while he savored it. Bilbo helped the kids sit and took his own seat. “He leaves often enough. He rarely stays for an entire month at a time. Bit strange that he’s coming back so soon. Still, I suspect he was rather upset about the… occurrences.” Balin’s gaze was heavy on the children who didn’t give any notice of his wording.

Bilbo nodded his understanding and ate the toast he was given. It didn’t seem quite as good as Bombur’s food usually was, and he found himself eagerly heading for the garden. Bifur followed him this time, rambling in khuzdul.

The garden was willing to be tended, and it calmed his heart and eased his nerves to care for the growing things. The Forget-me-nots were lovely in their full bloom, and seemed to dance with the joy of feeling the sun on their petals and leaves.

He worked without real thought, listening to Bifur sing what sounded like a drinking song as he wandered about. The children came and went, and the birds sang joyfully at the brightness of spring. It felt almost like he was back at the Shire. He could pretend that he was behind Bag-End aiding his mother.

And then, of course, he was interrupted.

He was pushing his curls away, they were forever getting in his eyes, the bothersome things, when he felt the unpleasant sensation that he was being watched. He snapped to attention immediately and saw Bifur standing calmly a few feet away. There was nothing unusual in front of him, so he spun around, his arm tingling.

A ginger haired dwarf, with a hairstyle that made Dori’s look simple, was standing in front of him. He had a grin that spoke of mischief, and eyes that danced with amusement at having startled Bilbo. He looked familiar, but he had never seen him before. He’d have remembered the braided eyebrows and star-shaped hair.

“You must be the new hobbit then. Ori mentioned you in his letters.”

“Who are you?” Bifur was still not moving, but the dwarf was a little wild. Did he not realize the strange dwarf was here?

“I am Nori, son of Nain and brother of Dori and Ori through my mother.” The dwarf dipped his head slightly and winked. “You’re Bilbo, Bungo’s son, right?”

Had he ever mentioned his father’s name? Hearing the name made his skin crawl, in a not pleasant way. He stepped back towards Bifur. The trowel in his arm didn’t feel like a great weapon.

The dwarf continued, not caring that Bilbo hadn’t spoken. “I’m here to see Thorin, of course. He’ll be back this evening, and I’d like a chance to change into something that isn’t covered in dirt. It’s been months since I’ve been here after all.”

“You’re his cousin then?”

“Oh no,” Nori shook his head with a laugh and a wink. “Dori’s father is how he’s related to Thorin. My father had no noble blood. Good thing too. That’d be awkward.” He laughed again and shook his head as though it was the funniest thought in the world that he would be related to Thorin. “No. I’ve known him forever.” Another wink and: “I’ll just head in so that I can look my best. There won’t be a chance later. Thorin doesn’t waste time.”

Bilbo’s stomach was at his feet, and the day no longer felt quite so warm. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have grinned so hard from all of your comments. You have made my day. You don't even know how happy you all make me :D 
> 
> I am having a blast with this story, and you lot have made it so much more fun to write. Like seriously, you are all the best. :D

The reactions to Nori’s appearance confused Bilbo. They were extremely varied, and almost comical in how extreme some of them seemed.

Dori was not happy at the appearance of his brother. He kept glaring and muttering in khuzdul. Ori would give him a stare that clearly meant ‘stop it’ but didn’t look much happier with Nori’s appearance. Though he did give the dwarf a hug and allow him to look at his new courtship braid.

Bombur seemed confused about why he was at the manor, and Bifur kept blurting out with khuzdul questions that Nori ignored. Oin greeted him cheerfully enough, but took too glaring at him when Nori declared how excited he was to see Thorin. Gloin grew quiet and contemplative.

Balin seemed oddly disappointed. He went to Bilbo’s side and gave him a biscuit with a look that was far too knowing. They sat quietly for a bit while Nori caught up with Ori.

“The Master is quite happy you’ve stayed, you know.” The older dwarf finally said. They’d been quiet for so long that Bilbo half thought he’d imagined the words.

“There wasn’t anywhere else to go.”

Balin considered him with a long look. “Is that all, lad? You only stay because there isn’t anywhere else?”

“I like it here. I’ve grown comfortable. I’m afraid you’ll have rather a hard time being rid of me now.” He smiled, and it was only a little pained. “Hobbits will seek comfort over all else.” He ran his thumb over the edge of his pipe as his heart twinged in his chest. He hadn’t really felt at home in a place since his mother had died. Watching his father fade away had been painful and robbed the hole of the feeling of home it had had previously. “As long as Thorin allows me to remain, I won’t leave.”

“Then you’ll be here for a long while. There are very few Thorin would let tend his garden, and most are related to him. It was a risk letting you tend the plants, but I saw no harm in it. You’ve done well. He trusts you. That’s hard to earn.”

Trust wasn’t the thing he’d most wanted to receive, not by a longshot, but it was what he would content himself with. What was he after all? Nothing but a poor gardener. A hobbit who thought too much and couldn’t even fight. He didn’t have anything to offer to someone like Thorin. He would work harder on forgetting his ridiculous fancies.

He had so much else to think about, to be grateful for. So many things to figure out and to learn.

He managed to hold onto that idea for the rest of the afternoon. The house felt too full, and somehow empty. Bilbo went outside with Bifur and Fíli in tow. Kíli was playing with Nori, and the dwarfling’s happy giggles were a little too much.

Fíli was extremely excited about the blackberries, so Bilbo led him to the bushes with a laugh and let him pick them to his hearts content. Juice was everywhere within minutes. He went about his business while Fíli picked. The dwarfling chatted excitedly about every little thing that crossed his mind.

Bilbo checked the garden’s boundaries, making certain that the stones he’d set hadn’t been moved by any creatures.

He took a step forward and paused when his foot hit something. He stepped back and looked down to see what it was, and felt his foot throb. A golden brooch flashed in the waning sunlight at him. He scooped it up on instinct, and studied it.

It was solid gold, with rubies inlaid. They formed a strange rune in a language he didn’t know, and it felt old. He hadn’t seen it on any of the dwarves that lived in the manor. They all had specific runes they would wear.

“We’ll have to make a pie.” Fíli declared and hefted his bag of berries. His fingers were stained a purple/blue and his fingerless gloves were a little ripped from his eagerness to get at the berries. “Kíli loves pie. They’re his and da-” The dwarf cut off abruptly and bit his lip. His gaze fell to the ground, and the sorrow that flooded his soft features tore at Bilbo’s heartstrings. He stuffed the brooch in his pocket and went towards the dwarf.

“I thought I was going to lose him.” Fili whimpered. He rubbed his mitten-covered hand fiercely against his face and hiccuped. Bilbo moved closer and placed a hand on his shoulder. The dwarfling was trembling. “The letters about the attack came and-” He broke off and gasped sharply, shaking from how hard he was trying to hold in his tears.

“Don’t be ashamed of tears, Mellon nîn.” He quietly ordered, pulling Fili nearer. He placed his head on top of the childs and pressed a kiss to the golden locks. “Whatever you’ve been told, they’re not shameful. Ever since we are born, tears are a sign of life.”

“Uncle doesn’t cry.”

“I’ve seen him cry. For his mother. I’ve sobbed for my parents.” He had never seen Thorin cry, but he was certain the quiet dwarf would not mind him saying that he had. He’d seen the sorrow in those pale eyes. They had cried for his mother.

“Dwalin?”

“I’m sure Ori could tell you quite a few tales.” After all, one didn’t become as suspicious as that dwarf was without memories that would wound a soul.

“I- seeing him laugh…”

“It’s nice, but makes you scared?” Fíli nodded against his chest and wrapped his arms around Bilbo. Kíli had told him the previous day that hobbits were nice for hugging. He was immensely grateful of that fact. “I know that well. It will pass. Just remind yourself that there is no need for sorrow. Your brother is well.”

“Touching helps as well, khuzdith.” Thorin’s deep, rumbling tone seemed to come from the very earth, and made Bilbo want to jerk. He repressed the urge and loosened his hold on Fíli. The dwarfling drew back, rubbing at his eyes again before looking at his uncle. Thorin was in leathers and furs, with a sword and axe strapped to his back. His hair was braided away from his face in an interesting style. His eyes seemed very blue.

He gave Bilbo nothing more than a glance before dropping to his knees in front of Fíli and placing both his hands on the young dwarf’s shoulders. He murmured something in khuzdul that made Fíli nod his head. He then pulled the child into a tight hug and released him. Fíli ran back to the house, his lips almost smiling.

Thorin stood slowly with his eyes on the house. He turned towards Bilbo, and the hobbit’s heart started to hammer in his chest as the dwarf’s eyes landed on him.

“Master Baggins,” He greeted. His forget-me-not eyes were bright, and filled with things that Bilbo wasn’t certain how to read. He was aware of the breeze drifting through the trees, and the sound of the trees creaking as they swayed in it, but oddly couldn’t really feel any of it.

“Sir.” The dwarf took a step forward, towards Bilbo.

“How goes your day? No weeds I trust?”

“None that remain. As I said when we met, a little care was all your garden needed.” He bent down to take the basket Fíli had left behind and stood carefully. He didn’t trust his feet around Thorin.

“Here I thought you said that my garden was deplorable when first we met.”

“Oh, make no mistake, it was. Technically, I didn’t say anything at our _first_ meeting.” The dwarf truly grinned this time, and Bilbo felt lighter for it.

“You are correct, again.” He looked around, taking in the swaying trees and partially picked berry plant. “Why did you venture out here, Master Baggins?”

“Well, Fili was a bit tired of company and I was itching for the sun as well. How went your business?”

“Tiresome but necessary. I thank you for asking.”

“Was it a fight or more of a meeting?”

“Closer to a meeting, though they often feel like fights.” They started towards the house without really saying they were going to do so, and Bilbo found himself grinning at the dwarf.

“I’ve been to a few gatherings like that. My mother dubbed them ‘aggressive negotiations.’”

“I shudder to think  of what an aggressive hobbit would be like.” Thorin had a teasing note in his voice that Bilbo adored. Far more than the judging tone he’d had when they first conversed.

“My mother could scare the curl out of anyones hair when she set her mind to it. She could  do passive aggressive like no one else. She could clear her throat and everyone at the midsummer meeting would sit up straighter for fear of her wrath. She wasn’t named Belladonna for nothing.”

“She sounds like a formidable woman. An aptly named one.”

“She would have liked it here.”

“As I hope you do.” Thorin looked straight ahead, and Bilbo could see a line of tension in his shoulders.

“I do, sir.”

“It pleases me to hear...so…” Thorin’s eyes shifted to the house and confusion danced across his face before his mask of indifference slid back into place.

“Oh, you’ve had a visitor arrive this morning, sir. A dwarf by the name of Nori?”

“Nori?” Thorin’s gaze remained on the house, and he sounded confused. “He is here? Thank you. I must see him.” And then Thorin was running into the house.

Bilbo turned back around and returned to his garden. The house was still too full.

-[]-[]-[]-

Thorin had a private dinner with Nori. Not that Bilbo cared. He made pie for the other dwarves and they celebrated late into the night. Bilbo didn’t feel quite as cheerful as they did but he believed he hid it fairly well.

It wasn’t until that night that he remembered the brooch he had found. He set it on his dressers to ask Balin about the next morning and continued with his nighttime routine.

He couldn’t remember falling asleep, but he woke with a terrible start. His heart was hammering in his chest and his skin felt thoroughly chilled. There didn’t seem to be any warmth left in the bed, and the shadows stretched endlessly in the room. The moonlight trickling in through the window didn’t feel very bright, and Bilbo imagined that the darkness was closing in around him.

The nightmare was heavy in his mind, but it didn’t seem half so dangerous as his room.

He shot up in the bed, his breath nothing more than pained gasps and his body trembling so hard he shook the covers off himself. He sat still for an endless moment, fearing that some nameless evil was coming for him.

The door to his  room was open. He had shut it before he slept. Ever since he was a child he had been unable to sleep with it open. The site of the open door now was the final addition to his fright. He slipped off the bed and snatched up his robe. It was one of his few belongings from Bag-End and the patchwork piece always comforted him. He took up a thick book off his dresser and slipped into the hall. It wasn’t much of a weapon. but it would give an intruder a headache.

He slipped from the danger of his bedroom with no real idea where he was going. He just needed to get away. He wanted to head someplace where he could find a friend and hopefully a fire.

He could hear his father crying out in his mind, and see the pale face he’d had on the last morning even with his waking eyes.

Bilbo ran all the faster and found himself heading to the first floor. He reached the landing with a pounding heart and no breath, and looked around in a frantic fright. There was a light on in the study, promising a fire. It was Thorin’s room, and only those invited were allowed in. He had a sudden and crushing need to be near the tall, strong dwarf. He would chase away the dark dreams and replace the fear with something far more pleasant.

Bilbo took several steps across the floor and paused in front of the door with his fist poised to knock. He could hear the crackle of the fire, and curled his toes in the fur that was in front of the door.

He couldn’t knock. Thorin would think him ridiculous, and Thorin wasn’t his to seek comfort in. The dwarf would not believe that he hadn’t left his door open, and he could not bear to look foolish in front of him.

He took a step back, dropping his hand from the door and bringing it around his chest. In his mind, his father’s screams seemed to grow even louder and they made him shudder.

There wasn’t anyone he could seek comfort from. Proprietary wouldn’t allow it, and he had to keep respectable.

He took another stepback and let out a broken breath that sounded like a gasp.

“Bilbo? Kurdumizim, what is it?” Thorin’s deep voice surrounded him. It came, impossibly, from behind and made Bilbo freeze. The sound of it relaxed his ragged chest, and made him tense in surprise. He turned with wide eyes and found the dwarf that filled his thoughts in front of him. His hair was loose from all braids and hung about his shoulders in soft, alluring waves. He wore a simple blue tunic with white stitching around the collar, and soft black breeches. His feet were bare, and he had no jewelry except for his earrings and a ring on his right hand.

“I-”

“You are trembling.” Thorin grabbed his right arm and his left hand and pulled him slightly closer, studying him in the dim light. His eyes were quick to scan Bilbo, and the hobbit couldn’t seem to still his body.

“I-” He swallowed thickly and shut his eyes to regain himself. He felt silly. “I had a nightmare and when I woke…”

“The shadows followed you?” He nodded his head but kept his eyes shut.

“Then come into the light. There is nothing better to chase shadows away.” The door to the study was pushed open and Bilbo was tugged into the room by his right arm.  He opened his eyes to see where they were going and Thorin didn’t stop until Bilbo was right in front of the fire. “Stand here for a moment, then join me?” The dwarf took his seat by the fire and motioned to the seat beside himself.

Bilbo looked at the fire and let its light warm him and steady his strange nerves. He swallowed thickly and moved to the chair. It was a plush chair, the likes of which he’d had in Bag-End. He sat down carefully and kept his eyes on the fire.

“Will you tell me what you dreamed of?” Thorin’s voice was soft and gentle. It was strange to hear something that was usually so powerful sound almost tender. “I have found that speaking often robs the visions of their power.”

“It was my father. I haven’t told anyone, what happened to him.”

“If you wish to speak, I will listen.”

“Were you not busy? I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Thorin’s skin was a bronzed color in the flickering firelight and the grey strands in his hair looked like spun silver. His eyes were intent on Bilbo, unwavering in their study. “Kurduh, you will not interrupt. Speak if you wish.”

“My mother died from the winter illness. It was terrible that year, and robbed hobbits everywhere of family. Children, tweens, adults, elders, it didn’t care for age or health.” He wrapped his arms around himself and stared at the fire again. “She was the love of my father’s life. He fell madly in love with her from the moment he met her. Her death broke him in a way that nothing could mend. For the first few months after her death he’d wake me up in the middle of the night screaming. Terrible sounds that tore from his throat violently and made my blood freeze. It was hard to wake him, and harder still to calm him down.”

“That is why you knew how to handle Kíli.” It wasn’t really a question but Bilbo nodded his head anyway.

“After that… he just stopped. He didn’t leave the house. He didn’t talk. He wouldn’t even eat. Nothing I did changed anything. He just… stopped.” Bilbo swallowed thickly and dashed his hand against his cheek to rid it of the single tear that had escaped. He was through crying over it. “I dreamed of his screams, but I couldn’t find him and they just grew louder till I could not even move.”

Why was he speaking? He’d never talked about his nightmares before, and this one was hardly anything new. The pain in his chest was familiar, and the ache of it was sharp enough to cause his tears but he had never spoken of any of it.

So why did he want to tell Thorin? Why did he ache to speak of the memories until he couldn’t contain them?

He choked off, barely holding in another confession and turned his gaze to the left, towards Thorin. His eyes lighted on the table between their chairs and his heart gave a painful lurch. There were two glasses set out. Thorin’s was still partially filled, but the other, the one near Bilbo, was empty. He didn’t have to ask who had drank out of it. Nori had clearly stayed with Thorin until after dinner. There was still residue from the earlier drink, so it couldn’t have been too long ago.

The reason for Thorin to be up in the middle of the night seemed terribly clear and Bilbo felt like a fool. All the more foolish because Thorin would have never guessed how he felt and he had thought there were hints-

He stood up abruptly and stepped away from the chairs. “Thank you, sir.” He stammered out with his gaze on the floor. Thorin rose from his chair but Bilbo kept backing up. He needed a moment to regain himself. To put up his walls and guard himself against everything. If Thorin touched him now, he wouldn’t be able to resist and it would hurt far too much in the morning.

“Bilbo,” He shook his head hard enough to make his curls bounce and backed further away. The door was right behind him now.

“Thank you, sir. I’ll retire now, Master.” He turned around and wrenched the door open as Thorin stepped away from his chair. He shut the door behind himself and ran unashamedly.

His room didn’t seem so frightful any longer. It felt like a safe-haven. One he could fall apart in without fear of repercussion.

He locked the door and curled up into a tight ball on his bed. He dragged the covers over himself and tucked his nose into the soft pillow while he bit his lip. He wouldn’t cry.

He would not allow himself to break over someone else who didn’t need him. Who he couldn’t be enough for. His father had given up and refused to see that Bilbo had needed him. He wouldn’t let himself fall for a dwarf that had someone else. He was too raw tonight. Speaking about his father had been a terrible idea. The nightmare had left him robbed of his defenses and he had let himself seek comfort somewhere he should never have.

Bilbo closed his eyes and promised himself tomorrow would be brighter. He would make it brighter and forget about the empty cup.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul alert! I have found I quite adore the language, and can't help but write in it. The translations will be at the end, along with a few from the previous chapter, if you were confused. so, unlike Bilbo, you'll know what is being shouted about.

He woke up slowly and felt as if he was fighting to do so. His head ached and his arm felt extremely tender to the touch. His hair was a tangled mess, and he’d fallen asleep in his robe.

When he finally managed to get out of bed he was late for breakfast. He could hear Thorin talking in the dining area and avoided it with all his skills. He went straight to the kitchen and took an apple from the stores as well as a bit of bread. He waved good morning to Bombur and then sought out Dori.

He had shopping to do, and Dori was an excellent haggler. It would get him out of the house and he could sneak into the garden afterwards without having to deal with his embarrassing lack of decorum the night before.

The walk to the market was fast becoming one of his favorites. There were trees a plenty, and a few rolling hills. It wasn’t as lovely as the Shire, but there was something appealing about the rougher landscape.

Dori chatted the whole while, mostly about Ori. Bilbo questioned whenever necessary to continue the conversation, but mostly just listened.

The market itself was bright and full of color in a wild way. Everyone was shouting something in an attempt to bring customers to their stalls. Pretty things were able to be found everywhere, and the smell of food was heavy in the air.

“Master Bilbo!” One of the dwarves who sold a fertilizer that Bilbo was particularly fond of waved into the air to catch his attention. He veered closer, noting that Dori followed him.

“I need a pound today, Frair.” The dwarf nodded his head and went about gathering the items. “How is your wife?”

“She’s doing fine, thanks for asking. We’re a month away now.”

“Lovely!”

“She took the tea you recommended and told me to give you a discount because it helped her swollen feet.” The dwarf huffed out a laugh and sealed the bag of fertilizer. “How about you? Is Prince Thorin doing well?” Bilbo paused with his hand on the bag and gaped at the dwarf.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“That will be all.” Dori growled out in a voice Bilbo had never heard him use before. His arm was grabbed and he was jerked back without the bag. Dori manhandled him through the market without saying a word and dragged him to the road.

He didn’t put up any fight because his mind couldn’t register anything past what he’d just heard.

-[]-[]-[]-

“What did he mean?” Bilbo inquired for at least the hundredth time. Dori glanced at him but offered no explanation. They were nearly back at the manor and Bilbo was feeling terrified.

And horribly lied to. No one had technically lied, but that was a huge thing to keep from someone.

Thorin a prince? That meant Fíli and Kíli were princes as well, and half the house was royal by relation and _dear Yavanna why had no one told him?_

Did they simply enjoy laughing at him? Did they watch him around Thorin and know?

He couldn’t really believe it, but it hurt just the same.

And Thorin was royal. _Royal_. He had thought himself silly when he loved him as a simple dwarf of status.

He was a fool. Such a horrible fool.

“It isn’t my place to tell, though I suspect you’ve already guessed everything.”

It would certainly explain the secrecy. The reason that Thorin had a bodyguard and the number of attacks on his life would make sense.

But why lie? Why not simply tell Bilbo who he was?

The mansion that loomed in front of them was the same as it had been when they left that morning, but for Bilbo it was forever changed. Dori would immediately talk to Thorin and then the dwarf would likely come to him. It wouldn’t matter where he went. He’d head for the garden then. He’d spend a few minutes there and enjoy the quiet near stillness before everything was irrevocably changed. He didn’t bother going into the house with Dori. He went to the front flowers instead and examined their roots and leaves. He plucked a few weeds and smoothed the dirt.

A bellow sounded in the house, and Bilbo froze. His heart jumped in his chest and his fingers trembled against the soil. More shouts in khuzdul trickled afterwards and Bilbo couldn’t stand still. The flowers held no comfort.

He stood up, dusted off his breeches, shook his fingers clean, and walked down the path around the side of the house. The shouts grew louder and he quickened his pace. He stopped halfway around the house and leaned against the stone wall. His heart was hammering in his chest and his legs were a little shaky. The front door slammed and Bilbo jerked at the sound of it.

“Ibzag!” Thorin’s bellow filled the air and made Bilbo jump. He straightened up and stepped away from the house, fisting his hands in his breeches.

“Melekun wain! Luchap sakhab zahar!” The words were nearly snarled and made Bilbo feel frightened and in trouble. Was he going to be kicked out? “Mukhuhu!” 

Did he stay still or dare to move? Which would do him better in the long run? He stood still for an endless moment and the choice was taken from him. Ori came around the corner and promptly stopped. He was pale and had his arms wrapped around his chest.  

“Bilbo!” He squeaked out. His hands shot out and took hold of Bilbo’s arms, jarring his wound. He grit his teeth in pain and tried not to cry out. Ori didn’t even seem to notice. “Mahal be praised! I thought you had fled.” He pulled Bilbo forward and he felt his wound jostle even more. “Come on-what?”

Bilbo’s eyes dropped to his arm. The wound was torn and the bandage was already starting to turn red with fresh blood. Óin would not be pleased. “Oh! I’m so sorry!”

“Ori? What is i-Bilbo!” Dwalin’s gruff tone was almost relieved as he rounded the corner. He had an axe in his hand already and looked as if he was going to offer it to Ori. He laid his large hand on Ori’s shoulder and stood at the tutor’s side. His eyes trained on Bilbo’s bandage and he scowled in obvious annoyance.

“Fine. Let’s get you to Óin to patch that up. Then straight to Thorin.” He squeezed Ori and met the smaller dwarf’s eyes. “You go to Thorin and I’ll take the lad.”

The next thing he knew he was in the kitchen with Óin ranting at everyone who sat still long enough. The other dwarves were near, but didn’t enter the kitchen. They were all quiet and wouldn’t meet his eyes. He felt as if he were in trouble, and desperately wished it would all just go away.

The not knowing why was the worst part. Bilbo was fairly certain Thorin was royalty-he wasn’t sure where, or why-but he couldn’t understand why he hadn’t been told. Why was everyone acting so oddly now?

What was Thorin going to do? Was it really so terrible?

“Calm yourself, Bilbo. Your heart is racing. You’re only going to make your arm bleed more by panicking.” He was passed a glass of foul smelling tea. “Drink this and breath normally.” The front door slammed and stomping feet stormed towards the study. He jumped in surprise and spilled a bit of the tea on the table top. Óin wiped it up with a pointed look. “Drink.” He took a sip and nearly gagged. It tasted worse than it smelled. He had to grit his teeth to get the rest of it down.

“Finished? Good.” Dwalin strode into the room and tugged Bilbo’s chair away from the table. He helped Bilbo out of it, and then nearly dragged him away.

“Hey!” Óin snapped, “Easy! That’s what started this thing. He’s clearly not gone anywhere yet, so he won’t go anywhere. You don’t have to be so rough or hasty. If The Master wanted to avoid this he should have explained everything to start with.” Óin set the rag down and glared at the table top. “He’s handled this whole thing like a child in my opinion.”

“Handled what?”

“Nothing.” Dwalin growled darkly. “The doctor has no idea what he’s talking about. Come along now.” He tugged on Bilbo’s arm and the hobbit finally got angry. He wrenched the limb free, stepped back, and crossed his arms over his chest with as dark a glare as he could manage.

“No. I will not be dragged. If the ‘Master’ wants to see me, then he can ask like a civilized person. In the mean time I will be waiting in my room.” He stomped off with his heart hammering and his body trembling. He felt ill.

No one tried to stop him, much to his surprise, and he made it all the way to his room before he heard anything else. It was a khuzdul curse that sounded like Thorin, but he wasn’t certain. His stomach was clenching so much he nearly doubled over. He managed to get through the door before he succumbed though. He pressed against the wall and tried to carefully breathe. His eyes were shut tight and his hand was wrapped around his abdomen protectively as he just breathed. Why a broken heart would make his stomach hurt, he had no idea, but he figured it was just a quirk of hobbits that their stomachs would join their broken hearts. Even his eyes were burning. Still, simply laying against the wall wasn't doing him anything but reminding him of the pain he felt. He pushed away and turned around.

Bilbo very carefully closed the door and went to his dresser. He tugged it open and pulled his clothes out of it. He laid those on the bed and grabbed his pack out from under the bed. He had a terrible sense of certainty that he was not going to be allowed to stay. It settled heavily in his stomach and made him aware of each breath and passing second. He didn’t want to leave at all. He’d come to be quite comfortable in the manor, and thought of it as his home. The dwarves that inhabited it had started to become his family, and it felt as if he was going to have to say good bye.

He was going to have to say goodbye because he was a foreigner, and apparently didn't have Thorin's trust, regardless of what Balin might have thought. If he didn't have his trust, he had no hope for his affections. He couldn't very well just wait around in hopes of earning Thorin's trust, and have to watch Nori have the one thing he wanted. It would destroy him and Bilbo would not let any more of his heart be damaged. Not after his mother and father. 

He was numb as he folded his few clothes and belongings away. His hands felt disconnected from the rest of his body, and a devastating emptiness was welling up in his chest. His stomach still hurt, but the pain in his heart was distant... blocked almost.

He didn’t hear anyone coming until the door to his room was pushed open. He froze with a vest in his hands and looked up. Thorin was standing with one hand on the door knob and the other hanging limply at his side. He was dressed in his traveling, clothes, which meant leathers and his plate armor. His hair was bound in two braids and his eyes were on Bilbo’s hand. He watched Thorin’s eyes as they traveled along his hand to the partially packed bag on the bed.

He let out a pained noise that Bilbo could feel in his chest and lurched forward. His free hand jerked to the doorframe and he grabbed onto it as though it were the only thing that could hold him up.

“Men kurdu, zu serêj men.” Bilbo didn’t understand any of the words but felt like he needed to explain.

“I-I thought I might go to Gondor.” He looked down at his vest and carefully put it down as Thorin stumbled into the room in the least dignified movement Bilbo had ever seen him make.

“Gondor,” he ground out, “you wish to leave?”

“I wasn’t certain of my welcome any longer, Sir.”

You cannot leave!” It was in his usual demanding tone, one that Bilbo usually didn’t have a problem in obeying.

“I can leave, sir, and will if I wish to.” Hadn’t they had a conversation about that? He wasn’t some slave to be ordered around. He had a free will that he would enact if he wished.

“You cannot!” Thorin growled with a glare the likes of which Bilbo had never seen. He walked towards Bilbo with strong steps and stood as tall as he could. The earlier lurch was gone and it was obvious he was trying to intimidate Bilbo with his size. The broad shoulders and barrel chest usually distracted him quite well. Now it only made him angry.

“And why can I not? Because you say so? As I said before: I am _not_ a slave. I am not chained to this mansion! I can go anywhere I wish. I _had_ wished to stay with you.” Thorin stopped abruptly, his eyes wide and face utterly void of expression. It was chilling how quickly he could make his face blank. Bilbo’s own expression spoke far too much. He could feel how desperate his eyes looked, how earnest his face was.

“Then why would you now leave, Hobbit?” His tone was careful and guarded. It nettled Bilbo even more and he had to fist his hands to keep from lashing out. Why was he under question? He hadn’t done anything wrong. It wasn’t his fault that Frair had apparently told a grave secret, that Ori had harmed his arm, and that he didn’t think he was welcome any longer. He didn’t want to fight. He just wanted to be accepted. To be welcomed to the home he’d come to love and to not be left out of so many secrets.

“Because I do not feel welcome. I will not stay where I am not wanted.” He held up a hand to stop Thorin from interrupting him. “And I don’t mean just because I’m useful. It is obvious that something extremely important has been kept from me, even if I’m not sure of what. If I can’t be trusted with something as basic as the lineage of who I am serving, then I was clearly not wanted terribly much. Just because I’m not a dwarf doesn’t mean I don’t feel as deeply as you lot do.” And why he tacked that last bit on he wasn’t sure. It fit, of course, but it showed a bit more of his heart than he had wanted to.

By the Green Lady fair, just thinking about leaving hurt. It was like an open wound on his heart. One he couldn’t tend and was causing him to bleed out.

“For one who would wish to say, you have packed quickly.”

“Because from the minute Dori and I arrived back at the manor I have heard nothing but khuzdul growled or shouted out. Hardly reassuring.” He dead panned the words and took the vest back up. He folded it with fingers that were far steadier than he felt. Thorin’s entire body jerked at the simple action and Bilbo stilled.

The dwarf was a conundrum. An unsolvable puzzle that had left Bilbo’s heart cracked. He adored Thorin. He cherished any time spent with the dwarf, and could find comfort in his company when there was none to be found anywhere else. Hearing him laugh could lighten Bilbo’s spirit in a second, and his smile was enough to make Bilbo’s day bright. He was smitten. Obviously so, if Balin and Ori were any indication.

Thorin even seemed to return his affection on occasion. Yet there was the Nori of the equation and his secret heritage.

He let his eyes slip closed as he placed the vest on top of his pack. “And I am not so blind to not know when I am being a hinderance.”

“A hinderance? You have never been so wrong.”

Thorin kissed him, his mouth wet and molten and salt-bitter, hands cupping his face and fever-hot body pressed right up against his own. Bilbo’s eyes closed and he rocked forward on his feet while something deep in his chest exploded outwards. His arms seemed to wrap Thorin up close all by themselves, without any thought or direction from him. The rest of the world felt very remote and he couldn’t think, or feel, anything beyond Thorin so close and real.

And then The dwarf pulled away and Bilbo let him go. He stuffed his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching back out for Thorin. He ached in a terrible way that he could feel through his entire body. He kept his gaze on his feet and tried to steady his breath.

“I feel that we are connected, Mister Baggins. I feel as though a bond, unseeable, connects my chest to your own. If you were to leave for Gondor I fear it would draw tight. If it should snap, I am certain I would bleed internally. I would bleed out with no hope of recovery.”

He inhaled sharply, and it was a shaky noise that filled the heavy air. He couldn’t lift his gaze, but he needed to know if Thorin was speaking the truth. He stood immobile.

“You want to banish me from your side but it’s vain to try. You can not now stop what’s been done. My heart will remain with you regardless of where my body goes. I can never again fully leave you. If you banish yourself to Gondor, know that you will take my heart with you. The cord that connects us will grow tight, and I will bleed out.” He stepped back, his eyes nearly feral with deep emotions. Emotions so much deeper than Bilbo could have ever guessed.

Bilbo sat down on the edge of his bed and exhaled slowly. It felt as though the room was spinning, and he wasn’t certain he was even conscious any longer. This had to be a dream. A strange, twisted dream.

“There was a lot in that statement. I’m going to need some things-a lot of things- explained a bit more clearly.” He eyed Thorin with a frown. The dwarf looked wretched. Where had his mask gone? He was showing an awful lot.

He patted the spot beside himself and Thorin stumbled towards it clumsily. He sat next to Bilbo, close. Their legs touched and it looked like it was all Thorin could do not to press closer.

“Where would you wish me to begin, Sanzeuh?”

“With the truth.” Bilbo answered simply. He held Thorin’s gaze steadily and kept his hands carefully folded in his lap. “Who are you?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul translations:
> 
> Chapter 8:  
> khuzdith = young dwarf. 'Little one'  
> Kurdumizim = heart's jewel  
> kurduh = my heart
> 
> Chapter 9:  
> “Ibzag!” = Curse it! Basically their version of 'damn it'  
> “Melekun wain! Luchap sakhab zahar!” = The hobbit is gone! Quick, search the house  
> “Mukhuhu!” = Find him  
> “Men kurdu, zu serêj men.” = My heart, you leave me.  
> Sanzeuh = My Perfect One. 
> 
> This was so much easier to figure out since Dushin. I'm getting quite a lot better at the whole Khuzdul thing ;)
> 
> Also, kudos to anyone who can spot the two Jane Eyre inspired quotes ;)


	10. Chapter 10

“I am Thorin Oakenshield. The same dwarf you have come to know in these long months. I was born Thorin Thrainson, crowned Prince of Erebor.”

Bilbo’s mouth dropped open, and he was powerless, to stop it from doing so. Erebor, the Lonely Mountain, was the most powerful dwarf kingdom in Middle Earth, and Thorin was _prince_ of it?

Why on earth was he not in the mountain? It would take two weeks travel to even reach it.

“I see by your face that you know of it.”

“I was born in the Shire, not under a rock.” Bilbo countered, mind still reeling. Thorin nearly smiled, but sadness welled up in his eyes. “Not to say that being born under rock means you’re-that is, oh bother. You know what I meant.”

“Indeed I do, Bilbo.” He savored the word, caressing Bilbo’s name as though it were the finest of wines and his favorite delicacy. Bilbo shivered and Thorin’s eyes traced him. Thorin had said he cared about Bilbo… yet he had lied since they met. “It was to that life I was born. The oldest of three, I was to rule Erebor one day.”

“Was?”

“Am. I am still the heir, though I have been banished from the mountain in all but word.”

“Will you tell me why?” Thorin nodded his head and turned his gaze to the wall across from them. His gaze was heavy and his hand clenched in a fist. Bilbo tentatively reached out and laid his own hand on top of the fist. Thorin started and looked down at the hand. He uncurled his fist and slowly turned his hand so that it was palm up and twined his fingers with Bilbo’s. He watched as the dwarf carefully considered his words, and he felt his heart constrict. It had to be a terrible, personal pain. One he could never show to anyone.

“My father feared I would claim his throne before his death. In the battle of Azan-Moria, I was the greater victor. I won much renown for my deeds, and my father became suspicious. He listened to other, darker voices, and was turned against me. He has not gone so far as to disinherit me, as he cannot with how favored I am, but I am not welcome under the mountain.” He lifted his eyes back to the wall. “My mother used to reside here when the pressures of court were too much to bare. It was her sanctum. She left it to me on her death as it was one of my favorite retreats. I retired here so as to ease the pressures at court.”

It was an over simplification, of that there was no doubt. A betrayal of such magnitude would have taken a long time, and Thorin was at least a hundred and seventy. How much of his life had he spent in such a way? Feared by his father, cherished at court but hated by a few who desired power they couldn’t have? Bilbo had watched his father fade away, had become unimportant to the hobbit who had been so important to him, but to be utterly untrusted? To be cast out?

He couldn’t imagine it.

“You don’t want to usurp him? Even if he wants you gone?” Bilbo kept his voice soft and judgment free. Still, Thorin stiffened beside him.

“I will not betray my family. Not for a throne.” _I will not be my father_ went unsaid but not unheard. How odd that they should both strive not to be their fathers. For reasons that were so different yet still so utterly similar.

“So why not tell me I was working for the prince, sire?” Because that didn’t make sense. He would have been more wary of an attack. There were no kings, or royalty, in the Shire but that didn’t mean he was utterly naive. No matter how peaceful the kingdom, there were always plots to harm those in power. Thorin had been chased from his home. How many tried to dispose of him regularly?

What reason could Thorin possibly have had for lying to him?

“You were supposed to be told. Balin would not inform you, of course, as it was not his place. It was my duty to inform you, yet I could not.” He exhaled and Bilbo didn’t push him for any more information. Thorin was going to tell him, that was obvious, but he apparently needed a moment to do so.

“I have never been a stranger to someone. I have never had my past so completely unknown to another. It was… refreshing. To not be treated as a prince. You captivated me, and I found myself intrigued. The more I learned of you, the more I longed to know. I found myself unable to tell the truth before long.” He shook his head, looking annoyed. “I ordered my staff to keep the truth from you, and you were _attacked_. I thought Ori would strike me for not alerting you to the danger of inhabiting the manor.”

That was… surprisingly nice to hear. Not just that Thorin had apparently been ‘captivated’ but that Ori was protective. He had more of a family than he’d hoped for.

“And then you found out the truth today, and you retreated to your room. My own kin turned against me at fear of you leaving.” He mock glared at Bilbo who simply raised an eyebrow. It was Thorin’s fault after all. He was the one who hadn’t told him anything and had yelled so condemningly. There was something warm uncurling in his stomach but he didn’t want to investigate it too closely. It scared him.

And Thorin was still holding his hand.

“I intended on telling you this morning, but you were not to be found.”

“Because of last night.” Bilbo replied softly. It was his turn to stare at the wall now. Thorin’s hand, so much larger and warmer than his own, grasped him more tightly. The calloused thumb stroked the back of his hand and it made the warmth in his chest hurt just a bit. “I let more of myself show than I had meant to.”

“You have nothing to fear from me, kurduh.” The thumb kept stroking his hand and it was driving him to distraction. “I would not, and will not judge you any nightmares.”

“It wasn’t the nightmare. I honestly expected it. Fíli’s fears reminded me of my father and that always brings nightmares. It was that I went to find you, sir, to counter the nightmares effect.” Thorin’s thumb stopped stroking his hand and Bilbo made to draw the limb away, but Thorin held tight. Bilbo’s eyes burned and his heart was beating far too quickly.

“Ghivashel,” Thorin murmured, his voice a deep, silky thing that settled around Bilbo like a warm blanket. He wanted to press in to it. “I am honored, so honored, that you would seek me for comfort. You are deep in my heart, am I too in your heart?” Thorin gripped his hand tightly, and it should have hurt, but it felt like he was flying.

He couldn’t fly.

“I’m a _hobbit_. I can’t be in your heart, sir.” Bilbo said, because it seemed like someone needed to remind Thorin - _Prince_ Thorin - of that fact. There were rules about that sort of thing. It made a romantic story, the peasant and the prince, but it wasn’t _real_.

“An exotic creature.” Thorin countered, his eyes molten. Bilbo had never heard anyone refer to a hobbit as exotic. It seemed ridiculous. Still, Thorin was nearly frantic in his persuasion.

“A plain male of very little importance.”

“An alluring foreigner that has honor, courage, and care for me and my family.” The dwarf’s knuckles brushed against his cheek before dropping to stroke his throat. “One that I would make a life with.”

“But you’re a _prince_.”

“An exiled _dwarf_ prince.” Why did that make a difference? Thorin stilled his hand, though he left it pressed against Bilbo’s skin, and met his eyes. It was very hard to breathe. “Forgive me, I forget that you would not know. My people marry who they wish. Dwarrows love once, and they rarely love at all. We come to our desired and offer our hearts. If it is rejected we will not seek another. We do not arrange marriages and we do not hold to status when looking for the other half of our heart.” The hand resumed its stroking but Bilbo still couldn’t breathe. “My mother was from a family of miners. She had no status but was married to the crowned prince.”

Thorin’s eyes turned an incredible blue when they were earnest and hopeful.

“Understand, Bilbo, I do not ask for a dalliance. I ask for a full courting. For the right to pursue you as the fine jewel you are-” Bilbo stood up abruptly and took two steps away. His breath was coming in harsh, ragged gasps and he was trembling quite badly. Thorin stood up looking as though he wanted to follow Bilbo. He stopped the dwarf with a raised hand as he turned his face away.

“A moment, a moment, please. I need to think.” His thoughts and feelings were a horribly tangled mess, and he needed to get to the bottom of them before he did anything else. Thorin sank back onto the bed and didn’t move.

It was so much to take in. Thorin was a prince of the strongest kingdom, the richest kingdom, and he really couldn’t think about that right now. It changed everything, but nothing at the same time. His job wouldn’t have changed at all, just his perception of Thorin. He would have to push past his feelings of unworthiness and remember that he was a Baggins _and_ a Took. Proper enough for the court, and crazy enough to consider joining it.

This was so very different from flowers and dancing and the simple, comfortable love of hobbits. Thorin was one of the most passionate people he’d ever met. He did nothing in halves, loving him and being loved by him would be a whirlwind.

The dwarf cared for him, that much was evident in the kiss (!) and the way he touched Bilbo. The alarm he’d shown when he thought Bilbo was leaving made more sense now, though he’d like to know just what all the khuzdul had meant. It was a sincere offer, evident by the way Thorin was sitting so stiffly and fearfully behind him. He knew his own feelings for the dwarf well. They ran deep and felt as genuine as the affections that had tied his parents together.

That in and of itself was wonderful and _terrifying_. He’d watched his father fade away from that sort of love. Would he follow the same path if something happened to Thorin?

At the same time, he couldn’t imagine living with anything less than the utter abandon that his mother had held in her life. She’d loved with her full heart, and had never feared it.

But he was a hobbit. A simple creature of simple comfort and gardens. He didn’t know anything about royal life, dwarves, or how to live in a mountain. Thorin would not court him for a simple fling. He would be courted with the intention of marriage.

Could he manage that? Could he live in the all seeing eye? Thorin had been chased away and he was _strong_. What if they disliked Bilbo?

Should he even think such things? Did it even matter?

He finally managed to master his breathing and quiet his heart while he reached the bottom of his thoughts. He turned slowly, needing one last answer before he could give his own. He was suspicious of the answer already, but he would hear it from Thorin.

The dwarf was sitting quietly on the bed in a hunched position. His hands were fisting his surcoat and his eyes were downcast. The vivid blue of hope had been replaced with the certainty of failure, and it tugged at Bilbo’s heart strings in a way he hadn’t expected.

He was already in so very deep.

“Nori? What of him?”

“What of him?” Thorin returned, his voice harsh with impatience and mild hysteria. It would have made Bilbo shudder earlier. Now it just affirmed what he was beginning to believe. Thorin was telling the truth.

“He lead me to believe you and he were… um… well-” He’d made Bilbo believe they were in a sexual relationship at the very least. He wasn’t quite certain how to word such a thing though. He didn’t need to, because Thorin’s face went from confused to incensed in a blink.

“I will kill him.” Thorin stated with a fierce light in his eyes. He stood up with a glower. “I will pluck every ginger hair from his traitorous head.” He went towards the door as though he was going to do just that.

There was no question about it. Thorin had not been with Nori. Apparently even insinuating that they were was a grave offense. “So he lied.” Bilbo felt a little shaky. He needed to sit down quietly with a nice cup of tea. He wasn’t built to handle so many things so quickly.

“Yes,” Thorin growled. At the sound of Bilbo’s voice he stopped going towards the door and went towards Bilbo who took a step back. “I had asked him to search the lands after you were harmed. He is a master spy.”

“That explains how he knew about my father.” Bilbo muttered to himself. Thorin stepped closer and Bilbo took another step back on instinct. The dwarf seemed twice as big as usual. Bilbo was certain he’d be lost in him. He wasn’t certain he’d care if he was.

“Your father?”

“Bungo, sir. He knew his name.” Thorin’s lips quirked up in a momentary grin before it melted away.

“He must have researched you.” Thorin gave the door a dark look. “We will have words later. That was not his place.”

“To try and keep you safe?” Thorin met his gaze head on. He took another step back and his heel hit the wall.

“To interfere. I had made my choice. He had no say in it. He then used my eagerness to keep you from danger to make you think that I was eager to see him. It is unforgivable.”

So much to untangle. To think about. He might need two cups of tea.

“Don’t be angry, Thorin.” Bilbo murmured, his heart racing again. The dwarf looming in front of him was powerful and large and furious that someone would make Bilbo question Thorin’s care and-

“Say it again.” Thorin rumbled, his eyes consuming. He pressed nearer and Bilbo was flat against the wall with no where to go. He wondered if cornered rabbits felt like he did. They wouldn’t have the underlying thrill, certainly.

“Don’t be an-” Thorin’s hands pressed against the wall on either side of Bilbo’s head, caging him in a warm, dwarf, prison. Thorin was close, so much closer than he’d ever been prior to today, and Bilbo couldn’t stop his eyes from darting down to the dwarf’s lips.

“No, no, my _name_. Say my name again.” Bilbo’s heart, quick beating thing that it was, positively melted. He had thought Thorin’s name, called the dwarf by it in his mind so often that he had forgotten he’d never actually said the word _to_ Thorin. Now he found he very much wanted to. He reached out a shaking hand and pressed it against Thorin’s chest. The contact settled  him in a way nothing else had and he allowed the best of himself to flow through his voice.

“ _Thorin_ ,” Thorin’s head dropped and his forehead rested against Bilbo’s as his breath left in a whoosh. It was one of the most intimate, trusting things Bilbo had ever been part of and he felt a tender part of his heart throb. He wanted to wrap his arms around Thorin and protect the dwarf. He, a simple hobbit, wanted to protect the powerful dwarf. It was utterly ridiculous, but oh, the urge to do so hurt his heart.

“Please,” Thorin breathed, his lips barely not touching Bilbo’s own. “Please, tell me you will not leave me.”

“Thorin,” Bilbo looked up at the face so close to his own, everything blurry but the blue of his eyes, and knew. He would do anything if Thorin simply said ‘please.’ That Thorin would allow himself to be so humble for Bilbo. For a crowned prince to say please to a simple hobbit… “I will stay, sir.”

Thorin’s breath was warm across his face, and then the dwarf was curling around him. Bilbo found himself pressed closer to Thorin than he had ever been. Pressed against clean leathers, thick furs, warm skin, and soft hair. It was heady and engulfing and overwhelming in the most wonderful ways, and Bilbo couldn’t help but cling as he returned the embrace in kind.

“Thank you,” Thorin murmured, and Bilbo could feel him speak the words, could feel it deep in the dwarf’s chest. He tightened his arms and brushed his nose against the grey fur to press closer still.

“My pleasure, sir. My greatest pleasure.”

“And the other? Will you consider my request?” Bilbo shook his head and Thorin drew back sharply. Bilbo looked up and met his gaze head on. He smiled and let his delight show on his face. There were questions, so many questions, that he still needed answered. None of them really seemed so terribly important.

Not anymore. Not in light of other things. Not when Thorin’s eyes were so blue and his gaze so open. Not when his touch was so tender and his embrace so warm.

“Is there anything else I should know? Anything else I wasn’t told?”

“No, Ghivashel. I found that I could not tell you that. Only that. when you were near and smelled of daisies I _couldn’t_ tell you.”

“Was that what they were?” Bilbo asked in mild bemusement.

“Wasn’t it?” Thorin’s voice held a note of desperation that he instantly disliked. He’d delayed long enough.

“Thorin,” he savored the name, enjoying the way it felt to actually speak the word, “the answer is yes.” Thorin’s arms were around him tight and suddenly his feet didn’t quite touch the ground. The warm feeling in his chest was throbbing through his entire body as he was lifted into the air. Thorin laughed loudly and so full of joy that there was no way Bilbo could not join in with the bright sound. Thorin spun him around as though he weighed very little, and clutched him tight while the laughter fell from his mouth. Bilbo held on as well as he could, trying to believe.

Because he could apparently fly. At least he could with Thorin.

He found himself back on the ground a moment later and Thorin stepped back with a fluid motion. He took hold of Bilbo’s shoulders as he did so and sent a long, slow, sensual gaze over Bilbo’s face and body that made him flush. His heart instantly started to race and his breath hitched in his chest. “Ghivashel,” Thorin named him again. “My treasure.” His blue eyes were gazing into Bilbo’s with such an intense, tender, soft expression that Bilbo was utterly defenseless. He allowed himself to be drawn in by strong arms once more, and he was then quite thoroughly and happily kissed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ghivashel = Treasure of all Treasures. So kind of like Beloved or the one of greatest value.


	11. Chapter 11

It felt like days later, but was probably only an hour or so, when Bilbo fully came back to himself. He was laying with his back on the bed, and Thorin was reclining on his side next to Bilbo. He’d propped himself up on his left arm and was tracing Bilbo’s features with the calloused tips of his fingers. They’d moved to the bed when Bilbo couldn’t quite manage to stand any more. Thorin whispering khuzdul in his ear while he sucked at the skin under Bilbo’s left ear had effectively taken him out at the knees.

The dwarf’s hair had fallen in dark sheets over his shoulder, and Bilbo had one hand tangled in it and the other was resting on Thorin’s waist. He could barely breathe past the lump in his throat. Just laying beside Thorin, innocent as anything, was a little surreal.

“When I return, I will decorate you with jewels and fine silks.”

“I would look ridiculous.” Bilbo gave his head a little shake. He couldn’t completely get rid of his smile, no matter how hard he tried. “I’ll wear your courtship braid proudly, but I won’t be weighed down with jewels. Rattling everywhere I go will drive me mad.”

He earned a large smile that warmed him from toe to head. But, “wait, return?”

“I had a meeting I was to attend this morning. Balin informed the Knights I would be unable to attend to their Lords this morning, but I will need to meet with them this evening.”

He proudly didn’t pout or frown much at all. “Will you be gone long?”

“Until tomorrow morning. I would like to braid your hair then. I will have procured the beads I wish to use by that time.”

“What should I do?” Thorin’s smile was soft, and a little shy.

“You are required to do nothing, but you may braid my hair if you would like.” His fingers moved up from Bilbo’s throat to his ear. It made Bilbo shiver (hobbit ears were horribly sensitive) and Thorin’s grin broadened. “I should like to gift you with at least one ear cuff. Would it be too much?”

“If it isn’t overly lar-”

“No,” Thorin shook his head and it caused one of his braids to fall over his shoulder and brush Bilbo’s arm. His hair was so very soft. It amazed Bilbo how well tended the dwarves kept their hair. “I meant will your ear be too sensitive for the weight of it.”

Bilbo blushed but gave his head a little shake. “It shouldn’t. Hobbit’s don’t typically wear earrings. Aside from wedding rings, we wear very little jewelry.”

“You’re surprisingly-” he was cut short by a sharp and pointed rapping on his bedroom door. Thorin’s smile was replaced with a dark scowl and Bilbo nearly laughed. “Calm down!” He ordered as he pushed himself up. He gave his vest a settling yank, patted his curls down and tried to control the flush of his skin. “Enter.”

The door flung open and four very worried dwarves stood in the entryway.

Balin and Dwalin looked extremely unamused, Dori looked frantic, and Ori’s face went from despair to ecstasy as fast as Bilbo could blink.

“Oh, it’s alright then?” The tutor asked, his lips quirking up in a smile he couldn’t seem to stop. Bilbo’s answering one was probably as large. Thorin sat up beside him and wrapped his arm pointedly around Bilbo’s waist. He found himself tugged closer to Thorin which did nothing to calm his heart or flush.

His clothes had been returned to their spots, and the pack put back under his bed. Thorin had done that himself with a glare at the pack as though it was trying to take Bilbo away.

“No thanks to your brother. Where has the wretch gone?”

“The wretch is in the hall, highness. And would like to remind you that he gives valuable information, and inform you that he was only trying to help.” Nori’s head peeked around the corner with a lewd grin. He eyed Bilbo up and down, blatantly, and winked in an overdone manner that made Bilbo feel as though he was sitting in Thorin’s lap with nothing on.

That was not a great thought to have when sitting on a bed so close to Thorin.

“Oh,” Balin blurted, his eyes going wide. “That wasn’t your idea then?” He shared a look with Dori, who looked equally surprised. Dwalin scowled at them and Ori raised his eyebrow.

“Nori wasn’t conferring with you?”

“Certainly not.” Thorin grumbled, his eyes flashed in warning. “You all knew what he was trying?” Balin and Dori shared another glance. Dwalin moved closer to Ori and tugged one of his hands away from the door that he was drumming his fingers on.

“We thought you were trying to make Bilbo jealous.” Balin said after a moment. Nori snorted and quickly hid back around the door at the glare Thorin sent his way.

“Mahal knows you complained about not knowing enough to make us think you would try it.” Dwalin tugged Ori a little closer and smirked at the glare Thorin turned on him. He didn’t look as fierce when he was holding Ori’s hand. He looked like the love struck nut Bilbo knew he was.

“Not knowing what?” Thorin pulled him closer and wrapped his other arm around Bilbo, holding him tight. It felt delightful but Bilbo refused to be distracted.

Dwalin’s grin was mischievous and promised a good story. “The oaf couldn’t tell if you were interested or not. Drove him crazy.”

“That,” Thorin growled, “is enough. Dwalin, ready yourself. I will come for you in a few moments to leave. Nori, we will have words later.” Bilbo’s smile faded a slight bit. “Now, if you will all excuse us, I wish to bid my intended goodbye until tomorrow.” No one moved for a moment, and then Balin and Dori were dragging the others away. Balin shut the door with a tired smile, and they were alone again.

“I would apologize for them, but as you have learned in the last few months, they would render it moot in very little time.” Bilbo snorted out an undignified laugh and Thorin eyed him hungrily, seeming to enjoy the sound. His hand gripped Bilbo tightly, and he was once again reminded of the fact that they were on a bed. Thorin pressed in closer, studying his lips before meeting Bilbo’s breathless gaze.

Thorin was smoldering. Intent and close with eyes that were somehow more blue than usual, and there were tiny flecks of silver and green in the blue, which Bilbo could see now because he was allowed to look.

Before he could really understand what he was about, his mouth was on Thorin’s, kissing the tempting lips. He allowed his right hand to reach for Thorin's hair, his fingers tangling on the dark threads and pushing him closer. It was so _soft_.

And Thorin was there, completely real and warm, with a musky scent of earth and something deep that was just Thorin. Bilbo allowed himself to be held by the powerful hands, the prince of the most powerful kingdom, and dug his fingers further into Thorin’s hair. He opened his mouth to a full kiss, wanting, wondering, willing, and licked Thorin's mouth before biting his lower lip and it was delicious. They were drier than any girl's, but still soft and strong. The dwarf let out a small whimper that made Bilbo’s whole body shudder with want.

“Ghivashel,” Thorin mourned, “I have to leave.” Bilbo nodded his head, but didn’t release his hair or arm.

“Quite right.” He mouthed at Thorin’s jaw, tempting thing that it was. Thorin’s beard was a pleasant scrape against his skin, and the noises he made were delectable. “You should be on your way.”

“Tempter,” Thorin growled. He sounded so annoyed that Bilbo had to pull away to laugh. He released Thorin and pushed away so there was some space between them, still laughing. Thorin’s gaze was still intent, but it was softer now. It made delight unfurl in Bilbo’s stomach and an unexpected sense of contentment settle in his chest by his heart.

“Go on, my Prince. I’ll be waiting for your return.” Thorin slipped off the bed and tugged Bilbo’s hand to make him follow. He did, and allowed Thorin to drag him to the door. He was kissed again, languidly, lazily. Deep kisses that made his toes curl against the floor and his heart throb with something he wasn’t yet sure of. Thorin ended it by drawing Bilbo’s lower lip through his teeth slowly until Bilbo shivered.

The dwarf then regarded him through half-lidded eyes and leaned in to brush his nose against Bilbo’s cheek in a slow, surprisingly sensual caress that made Bilbo long for more. Instead of reacting as Bilbo probably intended on him to (the evil dwarf!) he smiled and stood up on his tiptoes to press a chaste kiss to Thorin’s cheek. “Away with you now. The others are probably standing in the hall gossiping.”

Thorin’s surprised laugh was worth the annoyance of having to break away from the intoxicating touch.

This was promising to be just the adventure he’d been longing for.

-[]-[]-[]-

Ori sighed, again, and stirred his tea despondently. His other hand was twisting the napkin and twirling it around his fingers until it didn’t look like anything more than a lump. No one else had noticed his frown, but they were more occupied with trying not to act like they were staring at Bilbo.

The table was full, except for Thorin’s very empty spot, and Dwalin’s empty spot. Nori was sitting beside Ori, and Bofur was on his other side. They were murmuring to each other any time the conversation lulled, and both were laughing loudly and brightly. The reason for the miners absence over the last few days made sense. If Nori was trying to convince Bilbo he was with Thorin, then he couldn’t be around Bofur.

He was still a bit miffed with the ginger dwarf.

“Bekneuh igarif nibuzh.” (I saw something strange in the garden.) Bifur blurted out of the blue. He put his fork, which he’d been staring intently at, down and frowned at his plate. He had a large salad on it, most of which he’d eaten. It was still weird to Bilbo that Bifur only ate veggies.

“What?” Balin asked, zeroing in on the dwarf with startling intensity. Glóin was also staring and frowning. The table grew quiet and Bilbo found himself itching for a khuzdul to common dictionary.

“Buzuh mahabkhûz satf khatsuj nangingin.” (A footprint near the orange flowers.)

“Orange flowers?” Ori inquired. He dropped the napkin and pressed his palm against the table.

“What orange flowers? The daylily?” Why wouldn’t anyone translate?

“Daylilies?” Balin put his own tea aside and leaned forward. “Where are those?”

“By the northern border. Across from the fountain. Why?”

“Sorry,” Ori’s fingers drummed against the table in time with his speech. “Forgot you couldn’t understand. Bifur saw a footprint by the daylilies.”

“Was it not one of us?” Something prickled at the back of Bilbo’s mind. Something he had forgotten in all the days excitement. He tried to think back while listening. Bifur shook his head.

“Wîhyid sakhab.” (Wrong style.)

“Nori?” The dwarf shook his head to Balin’s question, frowning.

“I don’t know. I couldn’t find any signs of intrusion. One of the locals thought they saw a strange dwarf, but their description was inconclusive.”

“Oh!” Bilbo gasped suddenly, the memory flooding back, and bringing an impending sense of fear with it. He swallowed convulsively and tried not to let the tingling of his spine show on his face. “I-I meant to tell you-” he started, and suddenly everyone was looking at him very seriously.

“What?” Glóin growled the words and Bilbo had never heard Glóin say anything in a less than happy way.

“Yesterday, by the berry bushes.” He dropped his gaze to his own empty plate as the previous afternoon flashed in his mind. He’d been so disappointed and sad and then that night. “I found a brooch. It was a gold thing with rubies- hang on. I’ll just go grab it.” He jumped up and hurried to his room. Glóin followed him without another word. Everything was exactly as he’d left it. The bed was made, there was a flower in the vase by his bed (Thorin had picked it up at the door before he left.) The book he’d picked up for a weapon was sitting on the dresser and-

It was the only thing there. The brooch was gone.

For one long moment, he couldn’t move. His heart didn’t seem to beat and his breath seemed frozen in his chest. His skin tingled in the suddenly cold air and he blinked at least four times.  

“Bilbo?” Glóin asked, his hand light on Bilbo’s back. It was the wrong size and shape to be as comforting as it could have been, and Glóin’s voice was not nearly deep enough. Not nearly.

“It’s not- I don’t understand how it could be-” and then he learned how to breath again. The book seemed larger than ever before and his heart thumped. Last night. His door had been open.

Someone had come into his room and taken the brooch while he was asleep.

The certainty of that thought caused him to back up on some deep primal instinct and bump into Glóin’s chest. The dwarf immediately steadied him and pulled him further away from the dresser without saying a word. He’d clearly dealt with frightened people enough to know that reassurance needed to come before questioning. Bilbo was grateful for the simple motion, but his heart seemed to just hammer all the more. “What is it?”

“Last night.” His voice didn’t sound anything near to normal, or composed. “I woke up in the middle of the night frightened. My door was open and I never leave my door open.”

“Lad,” Glóin said low and with a careful quality that didn’t calm Bilbo at all, “are you saying that someone stole the brooch from your room?”

“Yes. That is exactly what I’m saying.” He nearly yelled the words, but he didn’t care. He flapped his hand in the air and tried to take another step back, but there was nowhere to go. His room, his _sanctuary_ , had been vandalized! It had been invaded while he was asleep, as vulnerable as possible. It wasn’t a safe place, it didn’t even really feel like his anymore. It felt violated, horribly and permanently ruined. The warmth it had been filled with just hours ago, that Thorin’s presence and confession had brought was broken. Forever dissipated into the air, leaving only the cold walls and dark shadows in its wake.

It was odd, perhaps, that he would react more violently to his room being intruded on than he had reacted to being shot.

“Katakhiger rukh!” (orc filth) Glóin cursed before grabbing both Bilbo’s arms and pulling him out of the room. He shut and locked the door behind them and ushered Bilbo downstairs without another word. They went back to the dining room, and Bifur instantly stood up. Glóin released his arm and made a complicated hand motion that Bifur responded to, and then they both left the room.

“Lad?” Balin intoned. Ori stood up and grabbed his hand. He tugged him towards the table and sat him down in the chair he’d just eaten his supper at.

The meal felt horribly heavy on his stomach.

“Give him a moment.” Dori ordered. Bilbo hadn’t noticed he’d reappeared. He was passed a steaming cup of tea, chamomile, and the mothering dwarf patted his back soothingly while Ori sat on his other side.

“It was gone. I-last night I woke up from a nightmare to find my door open.”

“Which you keep shut.” Ori murmured with a frown. His mitten covered hand settled on Bilbo’s arm and the soft yarn was oddly calming. It made his fingers itch for his crocheting. The steady motion would be soothing right now.

“Always. I left to seek company and ran into Thorin.” Balin nodded his head knowingly which made Bilbo blush. Had Thorin told him about that then? Or was Bilbo just that predictable? “We conversed and I - er…”

“Left in a hurry.” Balin said mildy. He leaned back from the table and put his hands on his knees with a sigh. Óin looked extremely disgruntled and was probably about to bark at Bilbo to drink his tea and calm down. He hated whenever someone got overly worried.

Thorin had talked to Balin. He wouldn’t have known how Bilbo left otherwise. It made something twist in Bilbo’s stomach. He wasn’t sure if it was embarrassment or shame. He’d reacted poorly last night. Not that he had known about Thorin’s affections.

“Yes. I forgot about what had frightened me.”

Nori sat up abruptly, dislodging the arm Bofur had around his shoulder and nearly knocking his glass over. “You were robbed? While you slept? Here?” He nodded his head.

“That’s bold.” Nori muttered, his gaze dropping down and to the side in thought. Bofur pulled the tip of his pipe out of his mouth and his mustache twitched.

“What aren’t you saying, Nori?”

“Something I can’t say here. Balin, I need you for a moment.” He stood up and strode out of the room without another word. Balin waited a moment before standing up stiffly and following him.

It made Bilbo angry. He was once again being left out of something that concerned his life. He glared fiercely at the table top and tried to quiet the bubbling rage in his belly. He was rather certain it was mixing with the fear and anxiety to become so furious. He wasn’t actually _that_ angry, he was simply wrung out.

“Who will he sleep with?” Dori put his own cup of tea aside and fiddled with the left sleeve of his coat. It was the first time he had ever really seen Dori fidget with anything other than his tea. It was so unusual to see the normally put together dwarf fidget that he took a moment to realize what he said.

“Me of course.” Ori stated as though it was obvious. “Dwalin left me his war hammer, and Thorin knows I’m taken. He won’t be upset if Bilbo bunks with me.”

“Bunks? Why?”

“You’re not going back into your room after that and there isn’t time to prepare another room. I think Thorin would rather you stayed with someone while everything is sorted out.”

The trembling in Bilbo’s stomach started again.


	12. Chapter 12

The smell of chamomile used to make Bilbo think of an aunt he’d rather disliked, but now it just smelled like Dori and warm nights in front of the fire. That and the touch of wool from Ori’s mittens was immensely comfortable. He allowed himself to take a few deep inhales of the warm tea and focused on relaxing his muscles.

There was no need to panic. There was no need for the terror. He was surrounded, literally surrounded, by dwarves who cared for him and would not allow him to be harmed. Glóin and Bifur were searching the grounds, Nori and Balin were discussing strategy, and Bofur had pulled a dagger from his clothing and set it on the table. It didn’t match the runes on his mattock, but did match the runes that had been on Nori’s axe.

“Do you think that’s necessary?” Bilbo asked quietly. “Sharing a room? I don’t want to impose.”

“Absolutely.” Bofur assured. “Nori will want the room as undisturbed as possible. He’ll be upset he missed the intrusion. Glóin is probably going to start following you around a lot more, if he isn’t just assigned to guarding you.”

“Aye. I’ll probably be going home to Nara and telling her that Glóin will be staying the night.” Óin said a little too loudly.

“Thorin will need to be told tomorrow. That’ll, well... Balin will do it.” Dori shuddered, and Bilbo hardly blamed him. He’d only seen Thorin angry once, he couldn’t imagine how furious he’d be about the intrusion on his home. “For tonight you’ll stay with Ori. We’ll have Glóin take the first watch, then trade off with Bifur. Bofur, will you be alright for the final watch?”

“Aye, I’ve got that. I’ll get Bombur to join me. Or Nori. Well, if he’s not busy.” He blew a puff of smoke from his pipe and the acrid smell made Bilbo’s nose wrinkle. He needed to send for some pipeweed whenever he got paid.

Why was he even thinking about that?

“I’ll keep the children company tonight.” Dori finished his tea and stood up. He dusted his clothes off and gave the table a look over before frowning at the dirty dishes.  Bombur stood up and started gathering them together without a word. Dori shot him a grateful look and then slipped away. Nori passed him and went straight to Bofur’s side.

“Right. We’re going to go ahead and turn in for the night. Bilbo, I’ll speak with you in the morning. There’s nothing we can do tonight and the sun makes darkness easier to think about.” he flicked his hands in the air, palm up, in a sign for ‘up.’ Everyone rose, their chairs screeching against the floor. Bilbo remained sitting the longest, confused about what was going on. He stuck by Ori side as they filed out of the room. Balin and Glóin were no where to be seen, but Bifur was standing by the stairs with his boar spear at his side. He was scowling but relaxed when Bofur patted his arm.

“This way, mister Baggins.” Ori gave his sleeve a gentle tug when they reached the top of the steps.

“Bilbo please.” Ori’s smile was shy as they walked down the hall. He’d never actually been in the tutors room.

“I didn’t want to presume. I know how hobbits feel about propriety and everything. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“Have I been that much of a stickler?” Bilbo asked with a smile. He felt shaky inside, but seeing everyone else nervous was pulling on his nurturing instinct. He didn’t want Ori uncertain over him. Focusing on someone elses problem also aided in helping to forget his own. It was harder to panic when he was trying to make someone else comfortable. “I didn’t even comment on the boys blunting the knives.”

“Or chipping the glasses?” Ori teased playfully as he tugged the door to his room open. It was, surprisingly, about the same size as his room. There was a bookshelf he’d examine later, a lovely little writing desk with parchments and inks of varying colors, and a modestly large bed. Next to the left side was a large war hammer that Bilbo had seen Dwalin tote around. He wasn’t certain how Ori could even lift it.

“Err, I only have a bed.” Ori fiddled with his fingerless mitt and chewed on his lip while he considered the purple quilt that covered his bed.

Bilbo put on his best smile and decided that he would take lead. Thorin and Dwalin would return tomorrow and the others would keep him safe in the interim. Tonight he would be grateful for Ori’s company. He had a feeling the nightmares would return with a vengeance. The reality of having someone else would help. Touch was often the only thing that would relieve nightmares.

“Hobbit children love to cuddle and are encouraged to sleep in large piles.” Bilbo explained as he undid his vest. He would probably sleep with the rest of his clothes. He didn’t want Ori to be uncomfortable, or for any taboo to be broken. “Our children also tend to fall asleep on us when they are very young. I’ve had three cousins use me as a bed at one time before. It will take a lot to make me uncomfortable, truly. If you don’t mind, and it doesn’t dishonor you in some way, I am fine with sharing the bed. Head to foot is how grown, unrelated hobbits tend to sleep if they’re sharing quarters.”

“I’m fine. Dori, Nori, and I used to share sleep rolls when we went on expeditions.” He shrugged a shoulder and tugged his fingerless-mitts off. “Dwarrows are actually encouraged to sleep near each other when they’re in the wild. We seem closed off to other races, but that’s because we don’t trust easily.”

Bilbo sat down on the bed’s edge and watched while Ori took off his boots. His braids fell about his face as he moved and he flicked them away with a practiced shake of his head.

“Do you undo your braids before bed?” He asked before he could quite catch himself. He felt off somehow. Like he was walking a thin line. He didn’t care for the tension, or awkwardness in the air and wanted to be rid of it. The deep panic from earlier had been pushed aside and it had left a strange emptiness in his chest.

He felt disconnected, and he disliked it.

“Most of them.” Ori pulled an ivory comb off the bookshelf that had tiny amethyst embedded in the top. “I’ll leave the courtship in, of course.” He went about unclasping his beads, a clever thing with a nearly unseeable clasp, and Bilbo registered what he said.

“Why’s that?”

“Well, it’s Dwalin’s. I can mess with it, of course, as it is my hair, but it’s quite rude. Especially since it’s his braid and everything. If He doesn’t get a chance to rebraid it before I leave the room, it’ll be a declaration that he made me unhappy.” Ori shrugged a shoulder and pulled the comb through his hair. “Rather rude when he isn’t even here.” Bilbo watched in frank fascination. Ori noticed and smiled. “Hair is important to dwarrows.”

“I’d gathered.”

“Only family is to tend to hair on anyone. With any dwarrow under ten it’s allowed because they rarely sit still long enough for their hair to be tended.”

“Like combing fauntlings feet.”

“You comb your feet?” Bilbo nodded and allowed himself to relax into the conversation.

“Yes. Clean feet are extremely important to hobbits, and it’s quite rude to touch someone else’s feet without permission. Brushing the hair is reserved for close family and lovers.”

Ori, finished with the comb, set it back on the dresser and made his way to the bed. Bilbo turned around so that his head was at the foot of the bed and pulled one of the two pillows away. Ori passed him a brown blanket that was soft with age and took the purple quilt for himself. The dwarf then laid down opposite him, and they lay quietly for a moment.

It was calming. He could hear Ori breathing steadily and knowing that he wasn’t alone was immensely comforting. “Do you mind if we leave the candle lit? It’ll burn out in an hour or so.”

“That’s fine with me.” Bilbo let his eyes slip closed and thought back to Thorin’s eyes when he’d said yes. He thought of the contours of the dwarf’s face and the way his lip had quirked up when Bilbo had woven his fingers through Thorin’s hair. He could imagine the weight of Thorin’s hand in his own and the gentle pressure of the dwarf stroking his cheek.

And he was comforted.

-[]-[]-[]-

He did indeed suffer a nightmare in the middle of the night, as did Ori. It was a wonderful comfort to have someone near when he woke. They went downstairs together for a cup of comforting tea (it didn’t pass Bilbo’s notice that Ori chose chamomile) and found Bifur staring at the fire. They chatted with him for a long while. Ori translating Bifur for Bilbo and there  was a surprising amount of laughter. He found himself learning a great deal.

Bifur had been injured at the battle of Moria defending Fíli and Kíli’s dad, Koli. Thorin had appointed him as a member of an honor guard since that battle. He’d worked for Thorin exclusively, despite the fact that it was Koli that he had saved. He’d raised Bofur and Bombur since they were under age. Much like Dori had raised Ori.

He was also hilarious.

Bilbo fell asleep at some point, wrapped in a fur and warmed by the fire.  He felt safe with Ori’s quiet companionship and Bifur’s half-wild gaze. He didn’t wake up again until the morning. Soft, warm lips pressed against his forehead, mussing his curls and calling him from slumber. He stretched cat-like and pressed towards the warmth he could feel just out of his reach. Fingers brushed his his cheek and a hand settled warm and heavy on his shoulder.

“Ghivashel,” a warm breath washed over his face as the voice called for him. “wake up bijebuh.”

“Hmm?” He hummed, blinking his eyes open heavily. Light blue eyes swam in front of him, a fuzzy face framed by dark hair. He blinked again and Thorin came into focus.

“Which?” Thorin rumbled, his chest buzzing against Bilbo. He was sitting in a chair that the dwarf was leaning over.

“Either.” He felt warm and sleepy and delightfully content so near to Thorin.  He wasn’t quite certain if he was still dreaming, and he wasn’t quite certain if he cared if it was a dream. It was a good one at the very least.

“Ghivashel,” Thorin murmured, savoring the word as he spoke it. “My Treasure of Treasures. Beloved, if you will.”

“Ghivashel.” Bilbo tried, and Thorin’s eyes seemed to darken while they softened. The hand on his shoulder moved up, stroking the skin of his throat. “And the other?”

“Bijebuh? My chosen.” Bilbo smiled and Thorin darted into press a lascivious kiss to his lips. It was a deep,  claiming thing that made Bilbo wake up a bit more. He freed his hands from the fur he was wrapped in and clutched at Thorin’s shoulders. Thorin fully claimed his mouth with slow strokes that had Bilbo’s toes curling with delight. He tugged at Thorin’s hair and earned himself a satisfied noise from deep in Thorin’s chest.

“That,” he managed once Thorin pulled away to give him some air, “is the only way to wake up.”

“I meant to be gentle with you, mizim.” He rubbed his nose through Bilbo’s curls and pushed back a bit. “I could not resist the temptation you presented in your sleep. Why are you not in your room? I doubt you were awaiting my return.”

“I was, but, have you been told?”

Thorin’s expression instantly changed. It had been a soft, open thing that made something in Bilbo’s chest, just under his heart, ache with a strange longing. Now it shuttered in an even expression that Bilbo knew meant Thorin was retreating on training. How often had he been told not to reveal his thoughts? “Told what?”

“You haven’t met with Balin?” Thorin shook his head and straightened fully. He raised an eyebrow that clearly asked if he should have. Bilbo’s smile faded away and the strange disconnected feeling from the previous night returned. He didn’t want to think about what had transpired. “Then I suggest you do, my prince. We can speak again after.”

“Is it something you should explain?”

“He would do a better job.” He found Thorin’s hand and gave it a warm squeeze. “Honestly.” Thorin stared at their joined hands for a moment, a strange expression on his face. Bilbo held on, letting him work through whatever was confusing him. When Thorin’s eyes met his again they were heavy with unspoken thoughts. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

“Very well, kurduh.” He slipped away, pulling his hand free, and strode towards the door with strong steps. More words to learn. Thorin seemed to have an endless supply of them. He sat still for a moment longer, but the fire had died out and the room didn’t feel as inviting when he was alone. He slid off the chair he’d fallen asleep on and laid the fur he’d been wrapped in on top of it. He gathered the tea cups and plates from their midnight chat. He made his way to the kitchen listening for any other voices. The house was oddly quiet. Bombur wasn’t in the kitchen and the kids were still upstairs. It wasn’t that early either. Around eight judging by the sun.

He put the dishes in the sink and dried his hands off before heading towards the pantry. He pulled an apple out of the barrel and grabbed the ceramic jar that Bombur kept the scones in. He backed up, shut the door with his foot, and nearly screamed when someone took the jar from him. Bofur steadied him with a hand on his arm. “Yavanna’s curls, don’t sneak up on me! Not after last night!”

Bofur looked down at his large boots and raised an eyebrow. Bilbo scowled when the dwarf smirked at him. “Bit distracted?” Bofur’s grin was evil, and entirely too cheerful. It didn’t quite reach his eyes though. They sparkled whenever he was actually happy. Bilbo had never met anyone else who could relay quite so much glee in his eyes. It was also really easy to tell when he wasn’t really feeling it.

“A little?” He went to the counter and set the apples on it while Bofur deposited the jar.

“Thorin’s back then.” Bofur pulled a scone out and broke it in half.

“And what do you mean by that?”

“That you’re distracted.” Bofur placed a light hand on Bilbo’s back. He leaned in close and it felt nice. Like having a friend, or family again. He’d had a horrible last two days as far as fear went, but they had been wonderful in such different and necessary ways. Thorin was first and foremost, of course. Also, despite his annoyance at not being included in the conversations last night, he had felt very cared about. “And your curls are ruffled. Can I guess why?”

“Bofur!” Thorin’s voice barked in the room and Bilbo jumped straight up, dropping his apple on the ground with a startlingly loud crash. Bofur withdrew his hand and took three steps away from Bilbo as he turned to face Thorin.

The prince looked murderous. His forget-me-not eyes were fiery with rage and his face was drawn tight with anger. He seemed larger somehow, and very dangerous. “Dori needs assistance. Tend to him.” Bofur nodded his head and grabbed the apple Bilbo hadn’t dropped off of the counter. “Thank you for watching over him.” Thorin added in a low, more controlled voice as Bofur walked by. Bofur acknowledge the thanks with a dip of his head and then he was gone.

Thorin’s gaze turned on Bilbo and it was something he could feel through his entire body, even from his crouched position on the floor by the dropped apple. He lifted his head and got caught in the heavy stare.

Thorin knew then.

Three long steps were all it took for Thorin to be at his side. The dwarf hauled him up with large hands and crowded him against the counters edge. He was mindful of the sore area on his arm, but the prince ran his hands along the rest of Bilbo’s upper body and face, checking for damages with a very serious expression that made Bilbo’s throat dry.

“You were shaking and my heart nearly failed me.” Thorin murmured as he brushed his fingers against Bilbo’s collar. “You left me despairing in my study and I had no idea, _no_ _idea_ , that you were in such danger.” The blue eyes were trained on his again, and Bilbo had never seen such eyes. Full of fury, fear, and something so deeply intense that he couldn’t name it. “How could you have left me without such information?” His cheeks were cupped in Thorin’s hands, the thumbs caressing the skin beside his eyes.

“Erm,” was all he could reply with. His heart was beating wildly in his chest and his skin tingled with the worried caress.


	13. Chapter 13

“Erm,” he replied again, still un-intelligent and blinked. Thorin didn’t stop caressing and the gaze was just as intense.

He should probably be more worried than he was. That was the curse of being a Took though. The fool-hardy adventurer in him couldn’t notice anything but the blue of Thorin’s eyes and the promise of excitement his hold had.

This would be anything but the safe, comfortable love hobbits had. Thorin was going to be a whirlwind.

He swallowed thickly and had a fleeting thought. He clutched on to it desperately and found himself stammering. “The cup… I got distracted by the cup.”

“What cup?”

“The one that was sitting next to yours. I assumed-” And the anger flared in Thorin’s eyes again. It shouldn’t have made a thrill rise in Bilbo’s stomach. He blamed it on the fact that he _liked_ emotional Thorin.

“I will burn his beard.” Thorin hissed, his eyes flashing with malice. “His foolish-”

“Thorin,” Bilbo cut him off and finally gained control of his limbs again. He placed his hands on Thorin’s arms, not trying to move them. He just let them rest there. “Don’t.” He brushed his hand up, letting it guide along the fabric of Thorin’s tunic. “You didn’t know and he was trying to help.” Thorin’s eyes blazed with ill controlled fury.

“He,” Thorin ground out, “lied. He made you upset enough to fail to inform me of something that put your very life in danger.” Thorin’s forehead pressed against his.

“No,” his heart was throbbing and warmth was unfurling in his chest through his limbs and throat. “It was my fault, no one elses.” He shuddered slightly, not quite able to stop the motion. The memory of that night was a heavy thing. Not pleasant and terrifying if he thought too hard on it. “It was quite unpleasant and rather ridiculous of me to get so upset when I…” He shook his head and Thorin pressed closer. “It was the nightmare. I half believed I imagined my door was shut when I went to bed.” His nose brushed against Thorin’s and he wanted to press in closer. “I listened to foolish fears instead of asking. Now-” He was stopped short by a sudden tight embrace. He was pressed into Thorin’s very solid chest and wrapped up fully by the warm arms. It only lasted a moment, barely enough time for Bilbo to realize he was being embraced, and then Thorin was stepping back with that infuriating even expression.

Someone had made him guard his affections far too hard. Bilbo would have severe words with the person if he ever found them.

He suspected Thrain.

“Follow me now.” Thorin ordered with a dip of his head. He turned around and strode out of the kitchen without a word or look back to see if Bilbo was following. His stomach gurgled unhappily but he followed the dwarf. It wouldn’t be the first meal he’d missed because of the Prince.

He hooked his thumbs in his braces and tried to appear calm. They went around the corner, down the hall, and into Thorin’s study. Dwalin, Balin, and Nori were already in the room by a table. There were maps spread on it, documents, letters, candles, and odd little trinkets. It looked like a planning area and Bilbo wondered why he’d never noticed it before.

Then again, Thorin tended to be much more attention worth. He usually stole the spotlight wherever he was. He had quite the presence.

“Good, the lads up.”

“Would have been up sooner if someone had thought to wake me.” Bilbo went to stand between Thorin and Balin and gave the older dwarf a pointed look.

“You were tired. We thought it best to let you have a few extra hours sleep.”

“Then why wake Ori up? He got less sleep than I did.”

“Because he can’t sleep past dawn.” Dwalin said at the same time Nori said ‘He’s a morning person.’ The spy scowled at Dwalin who glared right back.

“Ikhuzh.” (stop) Thorin gruffed. “It does not matter. Someone broke into my house while we were present, and intruded on one of my staff. I wish to know who and why. Bilbo,” a light touch to his back, “please describe the brooch you found.”

“Oh, quite right. My apologies. It was near the blackberry bushes. I found it when I was walking with Fíli. It was gold and oval in shape. It felt old, it had obvious signs of wear around the edge and there was a bit of caked in dirt where the rubies were set.”

“Rubies?” Nori inquired, raising a braided eyebrow. Bilbo idly wondered if he did them himself and however he managed to do so.

“Yes. They shaped what I believed to be a rune. It wasn’t one I’d seen anyone in the manor wear. I was going to take it to Bifur but that was when… Well, Fíli distracted me.”

“I arrived shortly after, correct?”  Thorin asked with another light, quick touch. Bilbo wanted to tell him it was alright to keep his hand on Bilbo’s back and resolved to inform him of such later. He hoped there wasn’t some rule against it. Was it considered improper or was Thorin just being cautious of him?

“Correct.”

“Do you remember the rune well enough to draw it?” Dwalin grabbed a quill and slip of paper off the table. Bilbo nodded his head and accepted the paper. He set it down and dipped the nib in the deep blue ink slowly while he thought on the design. He drew the straight lines with steady strokes and returned the quill to it’s ink pot. He gave his head a little nod and passed the paper to Thorin.

It looked like a common ‘n,’  there was a small thing that looked a little like ‘|><|’ next  to it.

“Does that mean anything to you?”

“Perhaps.” He passed it to Nori who instantly frowned.

“In rubies?”

“Gold and rubies.” He nodded his head. “They were a very vibrant red. They hadn’t dulled with age.”

“They likely came from the Iron Hills then.” Nori mused, studying the marks with a frown. “I don’t know of any house with these runes.”

“An individual's marks perhaps?” Balin asked. Thorin was leaning his body towards Bilbo slowly. He didn’t think Thorin was even aware of it.  Dwalin was staring at the map with a concentrated frown.

“Old you said? An heirloom perhaps?”

“Well, that makes sense. He would have had to have been a good spy to get past you lot twice. Makes sense that it would be a family career.”

“Why did you say spy?” Nori instantly inquired, his eyes narrowed and focused on Bilbo. He didn’t expect the question and shuffled his feet in surprise and no small amount of unease. He hadn’t meant to insult, regardless of how he felt about Nori.

“I didn’t mean anything by it. Only that whoever it was just appeared but didn’t do any harm to me. Not for lack of chance either. I don’t think it would be the same person who shot me.”

“They had plenty of chance to slit his throat while he slept. None of us would have heard.” Dwalin mused. Bilbo tried not to shudder at the image and Thorin noticed. He glared at his guard.

“A hit on the house or a warning?” Nori murmured with a frown, his eyes intent on the brooch. “Or a klutz looking for intel? Was he with the shooter? I need more information…” He glanced up and caught Bilbo’s glaze. “How much might he know about us?”

“That is all, Bilbo. You are dismissed.” Bilbo turned to look at Thorin but the prince was still glaring at his guard. He’d been dismissed? Why? Why wasn’t he allowed to stay? It was his life that had been endangered. He had as much right as anyone else to know what was going on.

He grit his teeth and dipped his head before turning away. There was a time and place. He’d ask Thorin later when he wasn’t in front of his dwarves. He didn’t like being dismissed-hated it in fact- but he wouldn’t challenge Thorin in front of the dwarves he led. Not yet anyway. If the circumstances called for it he’d find the courage.

The house was still too quiet, and he wasn’t certain where anyone had gone. He considered going upstairs, but there was no real reason to do so. He wanted a different kind of comfort, one his room could no longer provide.

The garden it was then.

He went back to the kitchen to grab the apple he’d never gotten to eat and then made his way towards the back exit. He slipped out the door quietly and gave a quick look around to see if he was alone or not. Bombur was walking near the vegetables, inspecting the tomatoes with a critical frown.

“Good morning!” He called with a cheerful wave as he made his way across the grass to the flowers on the far end. They were the delicate ones that Óin had requested. He hadn’t gotten to properly tend them in two days.  Bombur waved back in greeting but continued his pursual of the vegetables.  

It was a beautiful day, made all the lovelier by the gentle breeze flowing over the garden. He sat down on the ground and started to pluck the weeds from the ground. The time passed by with little notice from Bilbo, who finally had the time to think. He lost himself to the motions and to his mind. He hadn’t had a real moment to think about what had transpired since he’d woken with a nightmare. It had been one thing after another since that moment.

He hadn’t realized just how much he’d needed a bit of quiet time. It wasn’t that he doubted his choices, but having a moment to work through his thoughts and emotions was wonderful.

He hummed to himself, composing bits of rhyme as he worked and moved around. The sun had shifted across the sky quite a bit when he heard the door slam.

“Bilbo!” Thorin’s shout echoed across the garden making Bilbo pause where he was digging. There were a few summer flowers he wanted to plant before the days end. “Gardener!” Thorin’s voice was loud, painful in its volume and earnestness.

He popped his head up over the flower bush and smiled. A quick adjustment to his stance and he was able to wave. The motion caught his dwarf’s attention and Thorin nearly sprinted across the garden.

“What are you doing out here?”

Bilbo sat back on his haunches and watched Thorin come towards him. He moved powerfully over the grass, his pale eyes dark and alert.

Had he broken a rule by leaving? No one had informed him of such a thing. No… Thorin was worried, that was obvious, his eyes scanned over Bilbo as he went towards him. It wasn’t like he was alone either. Bombur was still by the vegetables. He’d sat down to enjoy a bit of a snack while he read something that looked like a letter.

“Sir?” he quipped as Thorin finally reached him. “What is it?”

“You were not in the house.”

“I had work to do. It was lovely out and Bombur was by the vegetables.”

“You were not to leave unaccompanied.” Thorin growled out in a menacing voice that confused Bilbo.

“When did that become a rule? And Bombur is right there!” He motioned towards the silent dwarf who was doing his level best not to make any sort of eye contact with either him or Thorin.

“I did not think you would need it said. Why do you think you roomed with Ori last evening?” Thorin hauled him upright and Bilbo felt a little sheepish but irritated as well.

“I didn’t know. I was just tending the flowers. Besides,” he added, propping his hand on his hip. “You dismissed me. I was clearly not needed, or wanted.”

“I sent you out so that you would not be upset.” Thorin rumbled, seeming to grow larger.

“I was not upset. I was upset when you sent me away like I didn’t deserve to know what was going on when it was my room he broke into!”

“That is why I sent you away!” Thorin yelled, his voice booming over Bilbo and making his eyes widen. “I will not have you in danger. ”

That… made no sense. “Then why would you send me away? Planning with the kingdom is necessary. If you want a future with me then I won’t be able to avoid it. Did you not trust me?”

Thorin’s gaze dropped to the dirt. “That was what I made you think?”

“Thorin,” he stepped closer and ran his hand along the back of Thorin’s. “I’m not a dwarf. The Shire doesn’t have ‘attacks.’ I don’t have any idea how to handle things like that. I don’t know the protocol so you’ll have to explain it to me. I would also appreciate it if you included me on talks. I’ll need patience.” Thorin stared at him for a long moment and then dipped his head.

“You are right, of course. I have not explained myself very well. My apologies, again. I am unaccustomed to such things as this. I have never been particularly verbose about my thoughts. I must ask for your patience as you have asked for mine. I will forget that you do not know my culture. I wanted to save you from having to hear anything more. I know hobbits dislike violence. It is in your nature to prefer peace. We were discussing further safety procedures and how my meeting went.”

“Thank you, but I was fine. I’ll try to be more clear in the future.” Bilbo smiled and stood up on his tiptoes to press a chaste kiss to Thorin’s cheek. “Was that why you came out here? To check on me?”

“We finished our discussion and I wished to braid your hair.” He pulled his hand from his pocket and opened it to reveal several beads that were silver with sapphires embedded in them. “Do you still accept my courtship?”

“Yes.” Thorin’s hand stroked along his cheek to weave into the curls on the left side of his head. His eyes followed the movement of his hand and Bilbo’s breath left raggedly as Thorin freed a section of hair from the other curls. His fingers moved dexterously over the locks barely tugging as he wove a complicated pattern. He clasped it with the bead and ran his fingers down the piece when it was finished.

“Now others will know I’m being courted by you?” Thorin nodded his head, his eyes trained on the bead. There was a strange expression on his face that Bilbo wasn’t quite certain what to do with. On anyone else it might have been uncertainty, but Bilbo didn’t think that there was any reason for him to be uncertain. Certainly none that he could think of.

“I have declared you as courted before all dwarf kind. If you accept my offer of marriage then I will add another braid. Until that time, all future advances are in your hands. I will not add any braids, jewels, or beads without your consent. I may gift them but you need not accept them. You are also welcome to braid my hair, though you are not required to.”

Bilbo took Thorin’s hand with a small smile he couldn’t get rid of. His heart felt like it couldn’t beat properly. Like it was pounding in his chest because it was too full.

“What does it mean, braiding your hair?” Thorin smiled, apparently happy with the question.

“It is a declaration of affection.” He curled his fingers around one of Bilbo’s curls and gave it a little tug. “Of great affection.”

“Do I need a bead?” Thorin shook his head and Bilbo stepped closer. Thorin tugged on the curl again. He stepped on the top of Thorin’s boots to get a little extra height and pressed a kiss to the dwarf’s lips. He wrapped his arms around Thorin’s middle and hugged him as tightly as he could. It wouldn’t hurt the dwarf and it felt so nice to hold him. To press close to his warmth and inhale the deep spicey intensity of his scent. Thorin’s arms wrapped around him as well. He held him in strong arms that could break him if they so desired, but were infinitely gentle where they held him. He felt utterly safe in the embrace.

They stayed like that for a long while. Bilbo didn’t see any reason to leave and he wanted to just bury himself in the delicious warmth.  

“Is there a specific braid?”

“No.” Thorin’s lips pressed against his ear and Bilbo found his body jerking at the sensation. He pressed his head closer to Thorin’s and the dwarf chuckled darkly against his ear. “Seven strands are typically used.” Thorin’s lips brushed over his lobe, the lightest of caresses. Something so light shouldn’t have been so effective.

“Do-don’t know if I can...err, manage that.” He swallowed thickly and ignored Thorin’s laugh. He was blushing, but it wasn’t embarrassment. He’d never known someone like Thorin. Someone who affected him so much with every touch. With every word and _look_.

Thorin had lethal eyes.

“Can you guide me?” His feet once again didn’t quite touch the ground and Thorin took him to the bench. He was set down on it and then Thorin was at his side with an even expression that didn’t quite reach his eyes. They were a liquid blue that Bilbo couldn’t look away from.

“Choose where you would hang the braid.” The dwarf ordered with a low voice. Bilbo grabbed a handful of the dark, thick hair and separated it from the rest of the locks. “Separate it into seven parts.” Bilbo did, and he followed Thorin’s murmured instructions. He moved closer as he worked until he was nearly in Thorin’s lap. He wove the strands together as well as he could and held the braid together when he was done.

“What should I clasp it with?”

Thorin leaned in and brushed his nose against Bilbo’s cheek. He tilted his head a slight bit and brushed his lips against Thorin’s jaw. A teasing touch that had Thorin mouthing at his ear. “The clasp, Ghivashel?”

“Too hear such words fall from your lips.” Thorin pressed another kiss to his ear and pulled back. He pressed a silver bead into Bilbo’s hand and smiled. A soft, shy little thing that made Bilbo’s fingers clumsy on the bead and braid. He finally managed to make it catch and brought the braid and bead to his lips. He pressed a kiss to it and let it fall from his fingers.

“I am claimed.” Thorin whispered, eyes blazing.

Bilbo beamed.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time jump ahead.

He spent one more night in Ori’s room and then a new room was set up for him next to the scribe. His bed was moved into it and Thorin had flowers put on the dresser. His room was directly above Thorin’s and he found that notion oddly romantic.

Nori disappeared the next day. He was sent to do ‘undercover work’ according to Ori who looked extremely concerned for his safety.

The rest of Bilbo’s days went by surprisingly normally. Glóin became a second shadow, always present though usually silent. That had been what they’d discussed after his departure from the room, apparently. He ate breakfast with the children and Thorin as usual, though he now sat next to Thorin. He took lunch with Thorin in the garden, after which they usually went for a stroll. After their time together he was given a lesson in defense by Gloin or Dwalin, then he tended the front yard. Everyone ate dinner together and then made their way to the fireside for laughter, song, and stories. Thorin would escort him back to his room at night and they would spend an hour or so talking (among other things).

He couldn’t quite recall anyone else that he had enjoyed simply talking to half so much. Thorin was full of interesting facts and adventures. He had been to almost every country east of the Shire and had the greatest tales from his time in them. They would recline on the bed (Bilbo was always laid on Thorin’s left side with his head over Thorin’s heart. The dwarf would wrap one arm around him and run the other hand through his curls, toying with the locks.) and Thorin would weave the tales of his life into the air like a spell.

Bilbo’s own life felt rather dull in comparison, but he told Thorin about it just the same. Wrapped close in Thorin’s arms he felt safe.

Weeks melted by and Bilbo grew comfortable once more. He was well guarded by the dwarves and Thorin was ever attentive in private. He had to leave every week or so for business but he returned always and Bilbo found himself truly trusting. Thorin didn’t dismiss him from any meeting he attended, and informed him of what they spoke about in any meeting Bilbo did not attend afterwards.

He also had not been kidding when he said he would gift Bilbo with items. He had four rings, three ear cuffs, two amulets, an anklet, two arm cuffs, and more beads than he knew what to do with. He was given a luxurious robe made from some sort of velvet. He had a coat lined with white fur that would be wonderful in the winter.

There were also useful items. He was gifted with a fresh set of gardening tools (that Thorin had actually made.) A new belt, a small sword, a lovely notebook, and a new writing box.

In return he cooked for Thorin, made him flower crowns as a proper hobbit should, and made him as comfortable as possible. Hobbits were creatures of comfort, and he made certain that Thorin got the best hobbits had to offer.

The dwarf was busy as ever, and had to leave every other week, often for weeks at a time. He occasionally only got to stay a day or two before he had to leave again. It was difficult to say goodbye, but Bilbo could cuddle with his new coat and pretend it was Thorin’s coat he was pressed against.

On the end of his fifth month at the manor (and the end of his second month courting Thorin) Nori returned.

The summer sun was low in the sky, painting the clouds a vibrant orange and red he loved. Dinner had already come and gone and he had left the cozy warmth of the house to read a book by the oak. Glóin was a few feet away and Kíli was at his side. He loved stories and would listen in rapture to any Bilbo cared to read. Fíli was having a lesson with Balin on stateship. Kíli wasn’t quite old enough for them yet.

“Am man agor Bill aníra medi lín? (Why did Bill want to eat them?)” Bilbo snorted and Kíli smiled all the wider.

“Because Trolls have truly atrocious manners.”

“A lín thost. (And they smell.)”

“They do indeed, khuzdith.”(Little one)  Nori stated. Bilbo started and looked over to see the dwarf limping towards them. His hair was partially undone and he looked like he’d spent the night sleeping in a bush. There were bits of leaf and twig in his hair, and his clothes and skin were streaked with dirt. He had a nasty scratch along the length of his cheek that looked painful.

“Prestad? (Trouble?)” Kíli asked with a worried frown. He pressed closer to Bilbo who looped his arm around the small dwarf. “Man agoreg? (What happened?)”

“What news do you have?” Bilbo translated. Nori eyed him with a frown.

“Thorin’s not here then?”

“He’s at the Grey Hills. He should be back the day after tomorrow. Balin has ravens if you need to speak with him immediately.”

Nori’s eyes traveled to the house with a worried furrow. “No… I think it should hold until he arrives.”

“That bad?” Nori gave his head a small nod. Worry, a constant thing in Bilbo’s chest, flickered brighter. Thorin was off on royal business with Dwalin, but he still worried. Thorin was an extremely capable fighter and Dwalin would die for him in a moment. There would be other royal guards and who knew what safety measures, but he still worried.

“It’s not that good, sir.”

“Sir?” Nori nodded his head and tapped the side of his head.

“You’re wearing the Prince’s braid. Unless you out reject him, your status has been increased. You are a sir.” He sighed and rolled his neck. Bilbo watched the motion and spoke without really thinking.

“Dori has a fresh pot of tea brewed. He’d be happy to pour you a cup while you write out a message, if you need to. Bofur’s by the fire as well.” Nori met his eyes, the greyish green orbs intent and curious. His head tilted to the side the slightest bit, and then the dwarf smile.

“Thank you.” He inclined his head, smiled at Kíli and headed towards the house. Bilbo watched him go a little uncertainly. It felt oddly like he had just passed some sort of test. He gathered the book and the remains of their snack up. The sun was nearly set and it would be Kíli’s bed time shortly. He wanted to find out what Nori had learned.

“Gwademel tolo bair abarad? (Uncle returns tomorrow?)” Kíli asked with an eager grin that made him look younger. His hair was falling in his eyes and there was a small smear of blueberry jam on his cheek that was endlessly endearing. He motioned at Glóin who was a few, respectful, feet away and received an acknowledging nod in return.

“Not quite. It’ll be the day after.” He stood up and brushed off his trousers before offering Kíli a hand up. “And I must say, I’m quite eager for him to return.”

“Níf innas melertha? (You’re going to marry?)”

Bilbo did not blush and he ignored Glóin’s quiet-but-still-hearable-chuckle. “If your uncle doesn’t withdraw his courtship, then yes.”

“Níf innas na nín nethemel? (You’ll be my aunt?)”

“Erm, I don’t know?” He looked over his shoulder at Glóin and raised a curious eyebrow. The guard shook his head.

“You’ll be his ‘ _Nadamad Yâsûnh_ ’-his uncle’s husband.” Glóin shrugged a shoulder, making his armor rattle a bit. “I don’t know the elvish for that.”

“Gwademel Hervenn is a literal translation. I’m not sure if there is something closer to the meaning.”

“Gwademel Hervenn?” Kíli parroted with a cheerful lilt. It shocked Bilbo just how lovely the words sounded. It settled in his heart, a warm glow full of promise that he could feel through his entire body. Promise of a long joy, of a family, of really belonging. Promise of laughter in the garden, guiding tiny hands on gardening, cozy morning in bed, lessons on stateship, a view over the mountain… So many images with endless possibilities. Not just a lover and a husband, but an entire family. A sense of belonging he’d been denied since he left Bag End.

_That bad? It’s not that good, sir._

Nori’s voice rose in his mind unbidden, and he suddenly needed Thorin to arrive back.

-[]-[]-[]-

Thorin had a way of appearing when Bilbo least expected it. Any time he left he reappeared and startled Bilbo. The first time it had resulted in Thorin getting kicked. Thankfully, he hadn’t gone quite that far again.

He very nearly did.

He was gathering a bundle of chamomile-which he had grown especially for Dori but half the house was drinking before bed now, and he heard a twig crack. Glóin, ever present and alert, stepped in front of him with a steely glare and dropped his hand to his axe. He tugged it free from his holster and grumbled something that Bilbo couldn’t understand. His pulse instantly spiked and he took a step back and hefted the basket a little higher like it could be a shield. His arm, completely healed, throbbed in remembered pain.

“Khul! (Peace)” Dwalin strode forward his own axe free and hanging from his hand as though it weighed nothing. He was covered in his usual furs, but there was a nasty rip from his right sleeve to mid chest. There was a bit of blood on his temple as well.

Ori would be fit to murder.

If Dwalin was hurt though, “Thorin?” The word felt enormous in the quiet air. Dwalin’s gaze shifted to him, judging as always, and his lips quirked up in a small smile.

“Hobbit.”

“I am here, Bilbo.” Thorin came into the garden with purposeful strides. He was putting his sword back in its scabbard with practiced ease. His hair was bound back in three obvious braids, two more would be hidden under the flow of his hair near the back of his neck. Bilbo’s pulse spiked in instant glee at the sight of him. For a moment, the gentle blue of Thorin’s eyes and the almost invisible smile he had, was all that Bilbo could see. He didn’t think he could breath for a moment.

Then he noticed that Thorin’s armor was dirty and there was a smear of blood near his neck. The sight of it made Bilbo’s pulse spike and his arm jerk. He pulled the basket nearer and a few flowers fluttered out.

That was Thorin’s throat. That was his pulse and _his life_. Who had gotten that near?

“Hanakur? (What happened)” Glóin asked as he put away his axe and went towards the other dwarves. Bilbo couldn’t move his body.

“Rukhs.” That was one of the only words Bilbo knew, mainly because it was always being growled out in a curse. Orcs. “Rukhskha kharubâl. Ningul zai. (Warg Riders. Near Gladden.)”

Thorin gave Glóin a significant look before moving past him towards Bilbo. He laid a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder, so warm but not seeming real. He wanted to embrace him, but Thorin was not overly affectionate in public. He had to remain undaunted and aloof. If not in front of his dwarves then in the eventual court. It was better to go on as they intended to.

Still, it was a deep urge, one he could feel in his very bones. He had to tighten his fists not to embrace Thorin. “You’re early.” He managed, but the words sounded thick even to him. Nori and Balin would be in front of the fire, and they’d need his attention. Óin would want to look at the wound and it would be so very late before he saw Thorin again.

He allowed himself to run his free hand along the edge of Thorin’s free hand. “We traveled more swiftly than I believed we would.”

Dwalin huffed out a laugh. “Being chased by orcs will do that.” Thorin glared and Bilbo finally managed to find the air he’d so badly missed.

“It probably does put a bit of pep in the step.” He moved aside and motioned for the dwarves to come forward. “Inside with you lot now. You need the rest and Óin will have all of our hides if he finds we kept you when you were injured.” He pulled the door open, noting that Thorin staid just behind him. “He’ll probably pitch a fit when he finds out that you ran with a head injury, Dwalin.”

“Obvious then?”

“You are bleeding.” Thorin  pointed out dryly. He pressed a hand low against Bilbo’s back and led him into the house. He didn’t need the directing but he welcomed the touch. Thorin had the ability to put a lot of care into such a simple touch.

The next few minutes were a rush of dwarves, as always. Thorin and Dwalin were dragged away by Óin, Balin, and Nori, and Bilbo was followed by Glóin into the sitting room. The ginger dwarf went to Bifur and murmured something in khuzdul before dipping his head and exiting. Bifur turned his gaze on Bilbo and he tried not to sigh.

Ori took the seat next to him and glared at the fire. “It was an orc.”

“And wargs. The noble idiot probably jumped in front of the first one.” Ori wrapped his arms around his chest and leaned forward. He was wearing a sweater that was too large, but Bilbo had never seen him not wearing a sweater. Even in summer he was wrapped in wool.

“He probably thought it was glaring at Thorin. Yavanna knows that’s how he got the one on his neck.” Ori nodded his head and seemed to wrap himself even tighter.

They say quietly together, no one saying anything as the fire flickered. Bilbo worked on a scarf for Thorin while Ori knitted another pair of hand warmers. It felt oddly like Thorin and Dwalin had not yet return. If it wasn’t for the fact that his ears were straining for any sound, he might have assumed that the prince was still gone on his business.

He had a feeling he would spend many nights like this. Before a fire with Ori at his side, both of them worrying about their dwarves. It was remarkably nice, far more so than he would have ever imagined, to know that he wasn’t alone in his worry. That he would have company while he waited. Company that understood the appeal of silence and the warmth of another presence.

Especially since his thoughts were dark company. He kept imagining Thorin returning, but in an entirely different manner. He could see Dwalin bearing a broken body, tears streaking the strong face as he brought the prince to the house for the final time.

The fire was starting to die out by the time the door opened.  Balin strode in first and went to talk in a low voice with Dori. Dwalin came in second and went to Ori’s side. Bilbo stood up to let the guard have his seat and went around the couch. Thorin was standing in the doorway, half in shadows. He made a motion for Bilbo to come out, and he did so eagerly. Thorin claimed his hand the minute he was near and gave him a tight squeeze before releasing it.

“We’ll retire to my chambers for a while?” The wound on his neck had been cleaned and had some sort of medicine spread on it. His tunic had been rumpled as well, which made him wonder if there were other hidden injuries.

“That will be quite agreeable.” Thorin’s hand settled low on his back again and he was gently guided towards the stairs. He saw Nori slip out the back but he paid the spy little mind. He’d learn what had transpired soon enough.

Thorin’s room was, as always, magnificent. It was the largest by far, and arranged in three sections. There was a fireplace with a thick fur in front of it, and a sofa to one side. On the far side of the room was a desk, table, and candlestand. Books lined an old shelf to its side and maps decorated the table top. His bed was against the left wall, and it was truly an impressive thing. It was larger than any other, covered with furs, quilts, and a dark blue blanket that was wonderfully soft to the touch. Four posters rose almost to the ceiling with intricate carvings of ravens. The canopy was a deep, rich blue that was velvety to the touch and made the bed warmer and infinitely private.

Thorin led Bilbo to the bed. Once he was seated the dwarf made to move away but Bilbo caught him and pressed a slow kiss to his lips before releasing him. It was a bit of a promise for later, but it was mostly a reassurance. He felt oddly shaken and didn’t quite know what to do with himself. His thoughts still felt dark and sitting in Thorin’s room even felt surreal.

Thorin went to his wardrobe slowly with a slight smile. He tugged it open with a tired sigh and roll of his neck. Bilbo’s eyes traced his familiar form, noting tiny details. The way he held himself to keep pressure off his right foot, the tension in his shoulders, the stiffness of his arms as he moved. It tugged at his heart and made him want to wrap Thorin in cotton and never let him out in danger again.

He couldn’t very well do that.

“Did the meeting go well at least?” Thorin shook his head and shrugged his outer coat off. He hung it on the wardrobe’s door and rooted around for his sleep tunic. It was a dark, burnt orange with gold and red embroidery around the delightfully loose collar.

“No. We could have used your mother’s fabled talents. I am not overly gifted with patience for polite politics. They bore me. I prefer bluntness.” Bilbo decided to do what he did best to get rid of the tension. He would comfort.

“Thorin Oakenshield not patient?” Bilbo gasped in mock shock and brought his hand to his chest while Thorin watched with an unimpressed frown. “Perish the thought!”

The very corner of his prince’s lips twitched. Just a bit but enough to make Bilbo smile. He swung his legs against the edge of the bed and Thorin’s gaze softened. He slipped off the bed and went to Thorin’s side. “I’ll help.” He stated as he tugged at the hem of Thorin’s tunic.

“Why Master Baggins. I might think you only followed me to see me undressed.”

“Not only for that.” Bilbo hummed as Thorin lifted his arms. He moved the tunic away and frowned at the sight of a bruise on Thorin’s chest. It was a large thing that spread across his right side. He avoided touching it and focused on unfolding Thorin’s new tunic instead He slipped it over Thorin’s head (the dwarf had to duck only a little) and smoothed it down. Thorin’s arms wrapped around his waist easily, and it felt wonderfully domestic.

“Come to bed? I’d like to sit for a while.”

Thorin nodded his head and pressed a kiss to the top of Bilbo’s head. He released him and went to the other side of the wardrobe. He lifted his sword from it and placed it next to the bed where he could easily remove it. It was a beautiful blade that he’d been gifted by some other noble family a long time ago. It was famous from some goblin war and one that Thorin guarded carefully.

Seeing it beside the bed brought the fear back and Bilbo found his breath catching as he exhaled.

He sat down on the bed heavily and fought not to wrap himself up. Thorin moved to join him with a curious expression. He shuffled over to make room for the dwarf. Thorin looped an arm around him and Bilbo tucked himself into Thorin’s side gratefully. The scent of medicine was heavy around Thorin, and it twisted his stomach. He hadn’t noticed it a moment ago.

It was crashing around him.

He’d known when he said yes to Thorin that he would risk his heart being shattered. Loving in the way he wanted to love, and being loved with the same abandon, demanded nothing less. It would be safer to back away, to stop loving. Thorin had come back to him bruised and with a cut to his _throat_. The slightest bit more pressure and Thorin wouldn’t have come back at all.

He couldn’t breathe.


	15. Chapter 15

“Bilbo? You are trembling. What is it kurduh?” Bilbo gave his head a shake and his curls bounced around his head. Thorin brushed them back to their proper position with his large fingers. “I will send for -”

“No, no, that’s not necessary… ” He shrugged his shoulder but Thorin was right, he was trembling. He kept seeing it. Kept seeing his dwarf dying in horrific manners. He felt like he was waiting for the day when Thorin didn’t come back. The fear had come on suddenly, and entirely unexpected. Under it all was a terrible certainty that he’d get his heart broken. That he’d wake up in the middle of the night sobbing for someone who would never reappear. That’s hed been completely mad to say yes to Thorin. After all, you couldn’t get hurt if you didn’t love.

“Then why do you tremble?”

“I’m not even certain.” It was dangerous, perhaps, how easily the lie fell from his lips.

Everything about Thorin’s expression seemed to dim. His eyes were intense and then they were simply blank. He slipped from the bed with his powerful purposeful way that couldn’t be called grace but was too smooth to be anything else.  “Would you like me to leave?”

Bilbo shook his head, frowning in annoyance and still trembling. He would figure out a way to break Thorin of the fear that his care was unwelcome one day. “The opposite, actually.” Thorin moved a step closer and Bilbo swallowed thickly. “I think it’s worry and adrenaline and exhaustion all mingling in an unfortunate tangle.”

Sort of the truth.

Thorin cautiously approached his side. Bilbo huffed and patted the spot beside himself. “Sit down you big lump. Sit down and hold me.”  He tucked into Thorin’s side and let the dwarf’s warmth and presence comfort him. He was far too deep in to simply stop caring now. He’d made his choice, hasty or not, and he was stuck with it. Thorin had his heart as much as he had Thorin’s heart. Granted, Thorin got the safer half of that deal. It wasn’t like Bilbo went off to fight orcs and wargs on a regular basis.

It was not knowing what had happened that was driving him to distraction.

“Lump?” Thorin asked after a moment. Bilbo nodded his head.

“Lump. Precisely what you are. You’ve been gone over a week and then you try to rush off once we’re alone.”

“Aww. Lump indeed.” Thorin held him closer and Bilbo felt his shoulders relax.

“Nori’s back.”

“He returned quickly.” Thorin observed with a frown and a tilt of his head. “Intelligence is one of the slowest business. He would have had to travel far for what he learned.” A sharp nose brushed through his curls. It was a distraction, a pleasant one, but a distraction none the less.

“Best get comfortable, lump. You’re going to tell me all about it.” Thorin huffed a tired laugh and pulled Bilbo closer before tugging the fur around them. He had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

Thorin moved them around on the bed until he was reclined and Bilbo was laying half on his chest. It was a warm coziness that always made him drowsy. The warmth of the fur, the softness of the bed, the strength in Thorin’s arms and the gentle way he held Bilbo… It made him feel remarkably safe and fairly treasured.

“What did he find out?”

“There were two dwarves involved. A hitter and a spy.” Thorin’s voice rumbled through his chest and wrapped him in it’s warm embrace. “You are still trembling, Ghivashel. Does it upset you so to hear?”

“No. It’s just, well, it was my room they broke into. It’s unnerving. It could happen again and I wouldn’t be any better able to protect myself. I can learn everything there is to know about fighting but I can’t protect myself in my sleep.”

“And you do not need to. My dwarrows guard the house at night. They are on watch even as we speak.”

“I know.” He tucked closer and tried to figure out how to explain. It was so different from the Shire. If he were there now he’d be curled in bed with Thorin and there would be no need for anything but peace. There wouldn’t be a constant, nagging voice in his head warning him to stay alert. Thorin wouldn’t be tired from a day of fighting and meetings. “Go on. I wish to hear, truly.”

“Nori believes they originated from Erebor. The Iron Hills at the very least.”

“Erebor?” Bilbo stuck his head up and frowned at Thorin who was staring at the ceiling with a forlorn expression.

“One of the runes? It was a D. Nori believes it was a symbol of the royal family.” _My family_ went unsaid but it was still deafening.

“Were they spying? Or trying to actually harm you?”

“They shot you, Ghivashel.” Thorin’s hand brushed along his arm, lingering where the arrow had struck him. His voice was low, dangerous in its anger but perfectly controlled.

“You think they were together?”

“You saw red, remember? It would make sense that they were together. Spying was not their only intention. Nori tracked rumors to Dale, but they died out there. His contacts would not answer his questions.”

“That’s not good?”

“It means a higher conspiracy.” Thorin huffed and ran his hand up and down Bilbo’s arm again. It was soothing to be able to lay like this. “I fear my father’s involvement.” Bilbo remained quiet even as his eyes grew wider. Thankfully, Thorin didn’t need encouragement to talk this time. “His paranoia known no bounds. Nori has always suspected his spies… But a hitter?”

Bilbo didn’t know what to say to any of it. He simply held Thorin tighter and brushed his cheek against the dwarf’s chest. “And then we were attacked on our way home. There have never been warg riders so close to the Gladden River. So near our home. Contrary to how it must seem, we are not so isolated here. Everyone that lives on my land is a trusted dwarf. They all guard the property, especially when I am away. Most here chose to depart Erebor and stay at my side. I’ve fought with nearly everyone of them.”

“Then at least you know it isn’t one of them.”

“Can I be certain?” Thorin asked the air. “Can I truly know? Would I suspect my own family before my brothers-in-arms?”

“Is it really possible?”

“It is my fault. I was foolish to think my father’s madness would not reach us here.” A ragged sigh tore from Thorin’s throat and cut at Bilbo’s heart until he registered the words. He pushed up a slight bit so that he could see Thorin.

“Madness?” He asked delicately. “It’s not simple paranoia and jealousy?”

Thorin wouldn’t meet his eyes suddenly. Alarm and worry churned in Bilbo’s stomach at what that might mean. Something was being kept from him.

“Thorin?”

“Forgive me,” the words were barely spoken, so quiet that Bilbo had to strain to hear them. They were filled with a pain he hadn’t yet heard in Thorin’s voice. One that spoke of suffering and reflection, of loneliness and the terrible burden of thinking no one could help. It was the same tone Bilbo’s voice used to hold when he spoke about his father.

That cut him to the quick. Thorin had so much pain already, lost family, loneliness, expulsion, why should he bare this fear-whatever it was?

And the dwarf _never_ complained. He gave his time and attention to everyone else and never let on to the way his own heart was bleeding.

Also, whatever was being kept secret was almost certainly not as bad as Thorin clearly thought. Bilbo would help carry the load of the unspoken burden. Thorin was ever eager to carry Bilbo’s loads, after all.

Because Thorin wasn’t alone anymore, and neither was Bilbo.

The apology was confirmation enough. He didn’t need to hear anything more to know what was going to be said. “Erebor, in its beauty and power is the wealthiest of the dwarf kingdoms. It’s gold hoard the envy of all who see it. Near the end of his life my Grandfather became obsessed with it. He would stare at it for hours, and barely left for any reason. My father has followed the same line. He has become obsessed with his gold, forsaking everyone else for love of it. He fears that I would send it away. That when I rule, I will divvy the gold up among the other kingdoms. Which I have intended. It is too much to keep in one location. Mere rumor of its size have brought enemies marching on our doorstep. It could be used to aid in the recovery of Moria. With the wealth in Erebor, other races would finally care about our sacred hole and the desolation and destruction invoked on it.”

“So, you’re saying the gold has caused madness?” It was confusing and frightening and made him want to cling to Thorin. That was something you couldn’t fight. It was Thorin’s own body turning against him, and against Bilbo.

“I do not know. Perhaps it would have come to pass regardless of the gold. My family is broken, Bilbo. For three generations madness has consumed my line. My grandfather, my father, my brother… why should I not suffer the same fate? I wished you not to know lest you think less of me. I am tainted.”

Thorin’s head turned to the side, and he rolled his entire body over. It was a silent offer of escape for Bilbo. Thorin was giving him the freedom to simply walk away.

He hadn’t even known Thorin had a brother. Was the dwarf still alive? He suspected not. Thorin would have mentioned him, probably suspected him in the trespasses if he had. It was quite a lot to take in, but it seemed to clear his mind. The earlier worry wasn’t as important. Not in the wake of this. Thorin was nearly trembling with fear.

“Were you afraid of going mad, or afraid I would be disgusted by madness?” Thorin didn’t say anything, but the answer was clear. Regardless of how much he might have feared madness, it wasn’t the reason he’d kept his secrets.

Bilbo leaned over the dwarf’s side and placed his hands on top of Thorin’s clenched one.

“Thorin?” The dwarf wouldn’t look at him. Not yet. “Every inch of you is as dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear.” He moved closer and finally managed to catch Thorin’s gaze. His heart was racing so quickly in his chest that it felt like it was simply fluttering. The thought of Thorin going mad was terrifying. Losing the dwarf he’d fallen in love with in that way would be horrible. “Your mind is a treasure, my treasure. If it were broken, it would be my treasure still.”

“I am selfish Bilbo, so selfish to ask for you. To ask for your heart with my birthright, and the madness of my family looming over us.”

“You act as though I’m unaware of what you are.” He ran his fingers along the familiar contours of Thorin’s face, growing more confident as Thorin turned to face him more. The dwarf’s blue eyes were large and glassy, unbelieving of what Bilbo was saying. How long had he held on to such silly fears?

“I know your history, Thorin. I’m still here.” Thorin surged forward and wrapped his arms around Bilbo’s middle. He was pulled into the dwarf’s chest and Thorin buried his face against his neck. He held him there, close and tight with arms that were stronger than a vise. He held back as well as he could, clinging to his dwarf’s impressive strength and trying not to let his bleeding heart show too much. He didn’t want to embarrass Thorin, but the fact that he had hidden his fears for so long… Such silly little fears that Bilbo could have so easily laid to rest.

As was, he wanted to climb on top of Thorin and wrap him up in his arms and legs. Until there was nothing of Thorin he wasn’t covering, that he wasn’t protecting.

“Will you be able to stay long this time? Or will you have to leave again?”

“I can stay for a while, kurduh. I would rather not leave before I can think on what Nori has reported.” Thorin sighed and Bilbo could feel the exhale against his cheek and felt his own body mimic the action.

-[]-[]-[]-

Bilbo was a lazy waker. He loved a soft bed and unashamedly adored lie-ins. Given a soft fur, fluffy pillow, and cushiony bed he would not move for a long time.

Summer days were his favorite to sleep in because the morning was the cooler part of the day, and the sun’s rays were a pleasant warmth on his skin.

Today Bilbo woke up in a panic because he couldn’t move. There was something heavy thrown over his chest holding him in place, and for a moment he didn’t even think he could breath. He jolted fully awake and prepared to flail.

Then he felt a small puff of warm air against his cheek and turned his head. Thorin’s sleeping face filled his vision, and the panic subsided to be replaced by a wonderfully warm feeling. He laid still, staring at the sleeping dwarf and considering the warmth.

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep with Thorin.

Not that he particularly minded sleeping with Thorin. He was just a little annoyed he didn’t remember the falling asleep part. He hadn’t even changed. He was still fully dressed.

Thorin was snoring softly, despite the fact he wasn’t flat on his back. He had his arm thrown over Bilbo’s chest, pulling him into the dwarf’s chest. His hair had fallen over his shoulder and was tickling Bilbo’s neck.

He looked younger in his sleep, peaceful.

Bilbo twisted around in Thorin’s hold to better see him, and Thorin’s breath caught. The dwarf’s arm tightened around him and then his eyes blinked open. They were bleary with sleep and mildly confused before they slipped shut again. Bilbo exhaled slowly and Thorin’s hand spread wide across his back before pushing him flat on his back. The dwarf breathed his name sleepily and traced Bilbo's side sleepily before shifting his legs between Bilbo's. Bilbo’s eyes widened at the interest he felt there and then Thorin gasped. His eyes flew open and met Bilbo’s in surprise.

“Morning.” He drawled, trying not to laugh at Thorin’s expression. His leg was released and Thorin moved his body back. Bilbo hadn’t even registered his own interest until Thorin had grabbed him.

“Ghivashel, I am sorry. I thought I dreamed.”

That simple sentence made the romantic part of Bilbo’s heart, the part he tried to pretend didn’t really exist, but was forever swooning at Thorin’s words, melt. Even in his sleep Thorin had recognized him and reached to join with him. It was Bilbo, small, round, garden-loving, hobbit Bilbo that he had dreamed of. Bilbo that he had longed for.

How he treasured small moments like that.

“Don’t be.” He pushed himself up on his arm and draped his other hand on Thorin’s chest before he could escape the bed. “That was a delightful way to wake.” He wouldn’t mind continuing to wake in that manner. To continue on in that way until Thorin was flushed and writhing against the furs. He’d be so very lovely.

“I did not meant be so presumptuous, or to keep you through the night.”

“You kept me company in the night because I was worried, and I drifted off without thinking. I slept wonderfully, by the way. Thank you.” Thorin sat up, grabbing hold of Bilbo’s hand and pressing his lips to the hobbit’s palm. It made his heart skip a beat and the warmth that was bubbling in his stomach flooded through his entire body.

He couldn’t quite manage to respond before Thorin was slipping away and striding towards the wardrobe. He had half-formed thoughts about what they might do swirling around his head. Dangerous thoughts made braver from sleepiness and waking up so close to Thorin. The dwarf was clearly embarrassed and probably thought Bilbo wasn’t interested.

Which was ludicrous.

Another partially formed thought was about the solution to Thorin’s problem with his father. He suspected the dwarf wanted to go to Erebor to find out for himself. He would probably need an excuse to enter the kingdom with how crazy his father sounded.

The solution to could be given with a simple answer that would satisfy all the other half formed thoughts swirling around his hazy mind. And Bilbo wasn’t quite through with his lie-in.

“Have you got anything to do today?” Bilbo asked, observing Thorin from the bed. It was such a lovely view.

“No. I imagine I will review Nori’s notes and do a walkaround to check the perimeter.” Thorin half mumbled as he tugged his tunic up from the back of his neck in an extremely boyish move that made want surge hot in Bilbo’s belly.

Thorin, Mahal bless his silly mind, wasn’t particularly catching on to Bilbo’s intentions. He’d never done anything like this though, so he might have been doing it wrong. None of his dalliances had gone past petting in the hayloft.

“So nothing pressing then?”

“Pressing?” Thorin pulled the tunic over his head and turned around as he did so. Bilbo dropped on to his elbows and tried to look as inviting as possible. It was one of the most commonly used tricks in the romance novels of Primula’s to indicate interest. (Which he would _never_ admit to having read.) Thorin’s head reappeared out of the bottom of the tunic and his hands paused around its hem as he gazed at Bilbo. He swallowed thickly after a moment and turned back away before tossing the tunic into the wardrobe.

Still not catching on then. “It needs to be done today. I would not be remiss in my duties.”

“Its not terribly urgent though?” He slipped off the bed silently and decided he was being too subtle. He had a plan, and very little time to go through with it. His courage wouldn’t last much longer. If Thorin left the room, he’d busy until that evening and would probably avoid the bed stubbornly. When Thorin was stubborn there was no force on Middle Earth that could move him.

“What do-” Thorin turned to face him and froze when he found Bilbo directly behind him. Bilbo’s eyes traced the line of Thorin’s nose, his cheekbones, the shell of his ear and the curve of his neck. Such strong features, rugged and undeniably masculine in a way that made Bilbo’s stomach flip. He’d thought of it before, of course. It was impossible not to during the long, lonely nights. He’d simply expected that it would be Thorin who initiated the act.

But he was a Took. He could take the chance on this adventure. Besides, Thorin was certainly interested.

“You’re not leaving yet.” He stated and Thorin’s eyebrow rose.

“I’m not?” he draped his hands around Thorin’s neck, careful of the healing injury.

“No.”  His eyes dropped to the cut and he felt his gut clench. “What caused this?”

“An orc that wanted my head. He failed.”

“Obviously.” Bilbo muttered. "How is it that you attract such trouble?" He frowned as he traced the mark on Thorin’s throat. It wasn’t nearly as bad as it had looked the previous night, but the sight of it made him hurt.

Thorin grinned in a helpless way that Bilbo was fairly certain he was the only one that got to see. He kept stroking the dwarf’s warm skin and watched as the grin grew. "It comes with the birthright, I think."

Bilbo snorted and glanced up at him. Thorin’s eyes were shining with amusement and affection. The earlier uncertainty was gone. "I think it's just you, sire" Bilbo said as seriously as he could. He hardly believed he was teasing over something so serious, but Thorin needed to relax. What better than a hobbit to offer comfort? Even if it was in the form of a laugh and loving touch? "The birthright has nothing to do with it." He leaned closer until his lips were by Thorin’s ear. “If you were a simple blacksmith you’d still get in trouble.”

"Is that right?" Thorin asked as Bilbo settled back on his feet. He could see his breath hitch a slight bit as he laid his small hand on Thorin’s very lovely, and wonderfully bare, chest. His own heart stuttered as he lightly traced an old scar that looked like a burn.

"Mm-hm," He answered, a little dazed, and then his hand was sliding over Thorin's shoulder and up his neck, fingers tangling in the soft, thick hair at the nape of Thorin’s neck.

Thorin’s breath audibly hitched at the simple move and slight tug and Bilbo couldn’t look away from Thorin’s darkening eyes.  He caught Thorin’s right hand with his left hand and kept his grip loose. Thorin studied him with curious eyes. Such eyes. "Thorin…"

"Bilbo," Thorin returned, a hint of a smile played around his lips and his body tilted towards Bilbo’s the slightest bit.

He swallowed thickly and tugged Thorin’s wrist gently, asking. Thorin moved closer, close enough to press against him and his eyes slipped close as his breath hitched.  "Please..."

He didn’t know, had nothing but a hazy idea, of what it was he was asking for.

Thorin, ever certain, pressed closer and kissed him. Kissed him firm and sure, lips chapped from travel and sleep, delightfully rough and perfect in a way that nothing else quite seemed able to duplicate. A strange noise came from the back of his throat as he opened his mouth to Thorin, who wasted no time in responding. His tongue flicked out to lick at Bilbo’s lip, and the he bit at Bilbo’s lower lip. He soothed his tongue over the spot a moment later and then his free hand settled low on Bilbo’s hip as their tongues met. Bilbo’s hand tightened around Thorin’s wrist, and he could feel the dwarf’s pulse racing under his fingertips. He moved his fingers further up and gripped all the harder on Thorin. He held him in place as he slotted their mouths closer together and swallowed Thorin’s deep groan.

Thorin’s pulse raced all the more and Bilbo pressed his own body closer, stretching as tall as he could. Thorin arched against him and it caused their… _interest_ , to brush and despite the layers of clothes between them Bilbo’s breath caught and a shiver slid down his spine.

"Bilbo," Thorin murmured into his mouth. "my _ghivashel_ , please-I-"

There was a kind of desperation in the way that Thorin said his name, and Bilbo had to pull away and rest his forehead against Thorin’s chest, and close his eyes. There wasn’t any air to be had and he felt like his entire body was trembling. He struggled to inhale anything, utterly dizzy and more overwhelmed with desire than he had ever been. He wanted so much he _ached_.

“I told you we weren’t leaving yet.” 


	16. Chapter 16

** SMUT WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER. If that isn't your thing, check back in on Monday. **

 

 

Thorin’s hand slipped up from his waist to cup his jaw, his calloused thumb tracing along the corner of Bilbo’s bottom lip.  A silent question.

That was the trick of it all. The courtship was entirely in Bilbo’s hands. He decided everything. Thorin showered him with gifts and affection but it was up to Bilbo if their courtship advanced in anyway. Thorin had been the one to initiate their courtship, to confess his heart. He had been brave enough to seek Bilbo, Bilbo could be brave in this.

Seeing Thorin with a wound, worrying about him when Nori had arrived… It just settled his own mind. He was ready to advance. He trusted Thorin and hoped that Thorin could trust him. It was the dwarf that had asked for his hand after all.

He felt powerful when Thorin looked at him, and being held in his embrace made him feel like the most desirable thing in Middle Earth. It was easier than he would have thought to pull on his Took courage and act.

Besides, subtly had gotten him absolutely nowhere. It was time to try a flagrant display.

He opened his mouth and caught Thorin’s thumb between his teeth. He pulled back from Thorin’s chest just enough that he could catch Thorin’s eyes, and then he closed his lips around the digit in what was, for a hobbit at least, a blatant statement. He circled his tongue over it and felt a thrill surge sharp in his chest as Thorin’s pupils instantly blew wider and Thorin pressed closer to him. He made a deep, hungry noise in his throat and rolled his hips against Bilbo’s in a way that threatened to steal his reason.

“Esùjeruh,” (my tempter) Thorin ground out, his thumb twitching in Bilbo’s mouth.

Bilbo sucked lightly on it, enjoying the way Thorin’s eyelids fluttered and his mouth parted. The dwarf’s tongue ran along his bottom lip, and another idea flashed through Bilbo’s mind. He closed his eyes at the thought and focused on the feel of Thorin before allowing his eyes to slide open again. He released Thorin’s thumb and allowed the mischievousness he felt to show through in his eyes and smile. He pressed a quick kiss to Thorin’s still parted lips and then pushed him back a step. Thorin offered no resistance to the pressure and Bilbo released his wrist. The dwarf reached back on instinct as Bilbo pushed him further back, and grabbed hold of the bed’s edge.

One more push was all it took to put him on the bed.

Thorin stripped him slowly, with long looks and stolen kisses between pieces. His own clothes disappeared while he kissed Bilbo, and it made the hobbit’s head spin. The sight of his completely bare body had sent a jolt of heated arousal curling through his body until he had to break away simply so he could breath.

The dwarf then leaned over Bilbo, letting his weight settle over him gently before he dipped down for a kiss. Bilbo shifted his waist naturally and Thorin settled more comfortably around him. He spread his legs so Thorin could get even closer, and wrapped his arms loosely around Thorin’s shoulders.

“Told you that you weren’t going yet.” His voice had dropped a note. Which Thorin liked, judging by the ways his eyes darkened.

“It seems you were right.”

He stretched up towards Thorin. He was nervous to be bare, but it was wonderful in a completely unknown way. They’d kissed, and mapped each other out over their courtship. There had been a bit of heavy petting, but they’d never been completely bare.

Of course, Thorin, specimen he was, had nothing to be nervous about. He looked like he was designed from stone. All broad shoulders, large arms, strong hands, barrel chest, the body of someone who was used to fighting, riding, and working with a forge. Now he could look at the rest of the work of art that Thorin was. Unlike most of the other dwarves in the house, Thorin had a stocky waist without the belly fat of his friends (or hobbit). His legs were corded with muscles (which Bilbo had wanted to taste for rather a long while) and his arousal was stiff and rather wide. Not terribly longer than Bilbo’s own, but almost too large for the hobbit’s hand.

“Ghivashuh, may I touch you?” Thorin’s accent was thicker, the words losing the crisp, cleanness of common to take on the slight guttural sound of khuzdul. Thorin’s hand was trailing down his side, tracing the line where his leg met his waist.

“Please do. Whatever you would like.” He pressed his head back into the pillow as Thorin’s hand traced up his leg to rest on his knee. A whiskery kiss was pressed against the skin there and he pressed towards it.

And then Thorin took him in his large hand and gave him a long, luxurious pull. It was different in every way from his own hand. He had no control over it, the hand was wider, stronger, and more calloused than his own hand.

He cried out into the air before Thorin was over him again, his hand still tugging Bilbo slowly. Thorin took advantage of his open mouth to slowly slide his tongue in, exploring Bilbo’s mouth thoroughly and leisurely. Bilbo responded eagerly, wrapping his trembling arms around Thorin’s neck to bury his fingers in Thorin’s thick hair. He coaxed Thorin closer until the dwarf’s weight was settled on top of him.

His eyes rolled back in his head as Thorin twisted his wrist and gave one more pull before releasing him. A trail of kisses were pressed across his hipbones, moving down to his inner thighs. “How like a cat you are.” Thorin observed thickly. “Stretching towards me in the morning sun. Will you start purring next?”

He was nowhere near to having recovered his words so he gave a noncommittal humm and pressed closer, reaching for Thorin’s shoulders. There was a sense of sleepiness still around him, and the air was warm from summer and the furs, and Thorin’s eyes were heavily hooded over him. His skin was warm, soft, and his body was strong and solid. He tugged and Thorin came back to cover him. The dwarf dropped his head to press his lips against Bilbo’s neck, just holding them there. Bilbo could feel him inhaling against his skin, and then Thorin pressed a open mouthed kiss to his pulse point, following it up with a nip.

He hadn’t expected Thorin to be so tender with him. It seemed odd with his confidence and abruptness in life. Yet Thorin had never been anything but tender with him. Still, there was no other way to describe Thorin’s actions as he lavished attention on every single inch of Bilbo’s bared skin, lingering on his chest, the curve of his neck, the oh-so-tempting collarbones, the muscles of his arms, the inside of his thigh. Nothing escaped Thorin’s attention as he alternated nips with kisses along Bilbo’s jaw-line following it up with a dusting of butterfly light kisses along the apples of his cheeks until he finally reached Bilbo’s lips. He moaned softly and allowed his hands to tangle in Thorin’s locks as the dwarf bit his bottom lip gently and then laved it with his tongue before taking possession of Bilbo’s mouth fully.

All coherent thought left Bilbo as Thorin’s hand started to trail its way gently up and down his spine. He couldn’t help but arch into the touch, a muted whimper leaving him as Thorin’s other hand stole down to his hip before reaching round to grasp hold of his bum and pull him further into Thorin.

It felt like he was being worshipped. Like Thorin was pressing all the things he loved best about Bilbo into his very skin. Like he was writing his adoration against Bilbo and it would physically pain him to stop doing so.

He wanted to do the same. He wanted to drive Thorin wild with pleasure and make his heart quiver with the love he could press into his skin.

“Shouldn’t I be doing more?” He was given a quick nip on his collar bone and he couldn’t help but yelp and arch into it.

“That would distract me.” Thorin said against his skin. He lifted Bilbo’s hip more and moved him so that he was rolling against Thorin’s thigh and the pressure was exactly what he’d wanted. Thorin turned his attention to Bilbo’s chest, and his beard was fantastic. Just bristly enough, and dear Valar, the things his dwarf could do with his tongue.

Minutes later, so many minutes, he managed to coerce his thoughts back together. “From what?” It was far more difficult to talk. To even think, when Thorin was everywhere.

The dwarf prince pulled back and smiled wolfishly. He moved his leg away from Bilbo, breaking the wonderful friction and peered down at Bilbo. His right hand stroked down from Bilbo’s neck to his stomach to settle next to where he ached most. He’d felt that wonderful hand, and wanted it back. “From making you scream.”

The part of Bilbo that was a Baggins, the part of him that blanched at improperness and was still wondering how he’d ended up in bed with a handsome dwarf prince, was pushed firmly aside. The part of him that was a Took, the part most like his mother, rushed forward eagerly.

He felt like he’d been challenged.

Bilbo surged up, grabbing onto Thorin’s shoulders until his mouth was on the dwarf’s left ear. He grabbed the cuff Thorin was wearing, a heavy silver thing, between his teeth and tugged. Thorin jerked at the action, a deep, rumbling groan shaking through his body. He dug his fingers into Thorin’s thicker skin, and moved his lips down a little to nibble at the rim.

Hobbit’s weren’t the only ones with sensitive ears.

Thorin melted under his ministrations. The dwarf’s body slumped against his, molding to him beautifully and pressing against him as well as he could. He seemed to lose himself to Bilbo’s mouth and hands. He moved his own leg against Thorin’s arousal, the hard, strong length of it, and pressed up. Thorin arched on a loud cry, trembling from head to foot. Bilbo dropped his head and took his mouth. He pressed close, thinking of all that he wishd to do to Thorin and translated it through his lips. 

And Thorin apparently liked it. His hand shot up to cradle the back of Bilbo’s head, holding him in place while his mouth was taken in a kiss that had his toes curling into the furs and his body pressing up into Thorin’s. It was wild with utter abandon and need. Want so strong that it made Bilbo’s very skin hurt.

Then, just as suddenly as Thorin tore free, he stopped. Bilbo could feel as the dwarf collared himself back in, nearly instantaneously. And that control? That restraint? It made Bilbo long to see Thorin without control.

A long stream of khuzdul was murmured into his skin. Observations, nonsense, or promises, he had no idea what it was. It brought a strong sense of pride regardless of what it was. Kisses were pressed into his skin between the mumbled words and he was shivering again.

Thorin pulled back a bit, hovering just over Bilbo’s body, barely not touching him. “It would seem,” he panted, “that my cat has claws.” The gentle fingers he brushed against Bilbo’s cheek belied the teasing bite.

“Mmmhmm.” He nodded, grinning and feeling powerful, “might have teeth to.” Thorin’s eyes seemed to grow even darker and he pressed a bit closer.

“What do you wish to do, mizimuh?” Thorin’s eyes were dark with promise and so many things that made Bilbo’s heart positively pound. His hand was trailing along Bilbo’s leg until it paused over his foot and tangled in the hair there.

His eyes trailed along Thorin’s, then dropped to the shaggy chest, to the strong shoulders, to the dip of his hip… He wanted everything. He wanted Thorin freed from the fear in his eyes whenever he misunderstood Bilbo, free from the haunted air he had when Erebor was mentioned, free from the fear of going mad.

Free from his confounding restraint.

So he responded by spreading his legs wider and laying back a bit more. Thorin was suddenly close again.

“You are sure?” he asked, brushing his nose against Bilbo’s cheek. He was far more intoxicating than any ale and more powerful than any spell. It created a cloud of want and warmth and need. It all came from the golden skin, long hair, and almost purring voice.

 _Yavanna_ , he was a lucky hobbit.

“Wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.” Bilbo managed. He ran his hand up Thorin’s chest, tugging on the hair and tracing over the scars. “Do you have anything to use?”

“The oil for my hair.” Thorin nudged Bilbo’s head aside to press kisses down his throat. “It will suffice.”

“Is it close?”

Thorin claimed his mouth with a kiss that was soft, and laced with laughter. It was a nipping thing that curled around Bilbo like a blanket. He was braced with his forearms on either side of Bilbo’s head, free to kiss and nuzzle.

“Close enough.” He snagged it off the side table and uncorked it with one hand before pouring a bit of the oil on his fingers.

His eyes, so close to the color of forget-me-nots locked onto Bilbo, and the next bit kind of blurred for the hobbit. Thorin’s fingers were large and rough and seeking. They moved with the same certainty that carried Thorin through every bit of his life. He found himself with his head thrown back, his cheek pressed against the pillow, his eyes closed, and his mouth open as he gasped for breath. His curls were covering half his face but he still felt open, bare to Thorin’s view. It was a terribly intimate, trusting thing.

“Ghivasheluh, hôfukuh. Zu lukhudûn.”  (My treasure of treasures, my joy. You are my light.) Thorin bent down as he spoke and brushed his nose against Bilbo’s collar. He pressed a light kiss to the skin there. A soft, reverential kiss that made Bilbo’s heart pound all the harder. Thorin moved his hand slowly, pressing gentle kisses to Bilbo’s skin as he worked him open.

“What?” Thorin’s forehead pressed against his as his prince continued to prepare him.

“Endearments,” Thorin said thickly. He pressed a kiss to Bilbo’s curls and moved lower. “My treasure,” another kiss and Bilbo relaxed under Thorin’s ministrations. His free hand had found Bilbo’s chest and was tugging at his nipples. It sent sparks of pleasure dancing under his skin to gather with the twisting cord of arousal in his belly. “I did not think-”

“You thought a little.” Bilbo countered with a laugh. “Hence the lovely wake up call.”  

Thorin retaliated by adding another finger. The pressure increased, as did the stretch and strange pleasure of it. His hips rose from the bed to seek more and he couldn’t quite stop a mewling noise from falling from his lips. Still Thorin pressed on, and his lips explored everywhere. He kept his pace slow and steady, holding Bilbo’s hips still with his hand. Another finger joined the other two, and something in Bilbo needed more.

“Please,” Bilbo panted, trying not to writhe off the bed, and Thorin, because he was a prat and determined to drive Bilbo mad, changed the motion of his fingers. He moved them upward and it removed all the ability to think he had. “Oh!” Was all he could get out.

“Try and hold still,” Thorin offered before moving his fingers further up. Bilbo’s vision whited out for a moment and he couldn’t stop an alarmingly loud shout from slipping out. Pleasure like liquid fire, more intense than anything his own hand had ever accomplished, or any touch Thorin had given, shot through his limbs and he couldn’t stop his legs from trembling or his hips from pressing up into Thorin’s steady grip.

“Bilbo, ghivashuh. Zu sakhabgelek zuur mal.” (Bilbo, my treasure. You are beautiful in your pleasure.)

“Come on,” Bilbo gasped, “Come on you big lump. I’m ready for you.” He pulled at the dwarf’s arm and shoulders until his prince was poised over him, eyes intent. There was an awkward moment where Bilbo felt as if he was all limbs, very nearly kneeing Thorin in the groin and ending their delight before it could truly begin, and then Thorin was there. He pressed in, slowly, and Bilbo curled close. It was so much, and Thorin was far more than fingers, but it was wonderful as well. He could feel Thorin breathing, holding still for him to adjust. The pressure was just on the nice side of too much, and the burn something he wanted. He felt tight, a little light-headed, and he needed something. He remained still a moment longer, trying to figure out what that something was, and then gave his head a short nod.

The first slide of Thorin hips was slow, measured, the burn and stretch a little painful, very unfamiliar, but welcome, oh so very welcome. Bilbo gasped out in surprise and Thorin dropped a bit, changing the angle.

Bilbo wiggled his hands free to pet through Thorin’s hair, to tug on it like he knew the dwarf enjoyed. Thorin made a low-throated noise, almost a purr, of enjoyment and Bilbo couldn’t help but smile and pull the head lower.

He moved in that way. With slow, even strokes that had Bilbo seeing stars. He could feel every inch of Thorin as the dwarf moved. “Ghivashel,” Thorin breathed heavily, “I shall add another braid to your hair.”

“What?” He gave his hips an experimental roll, and it brought Thorin even closer and deeper.  

“Zatazirikh,” he grunted. Bilbo watched a tremble in his arm and felt remarkably powerful once more. It was an addicting power. That he could drive Thorin, the prince, to trembling was a heady thing. He’d never realized how much confidence it could give him. He loved Thorin, but always caught himself thinking he should not be loved in returned.

The truth was that he was loved, he was desired, and he was very cherished. “Which means?”

“Claiming.” Thorin flipped his hair over his shoulder and peered down at Bilbo with hungry eyes. He braced himself with one arm and brought the other hand to tug one of Bilbo’s curls.

“I think I’d like to braid it in your hair as well.” Bilbo murmured, pressing back into the pillow and trying to lift his leg up higher on Thorin’s side.  He needed something more, he just wasn’t sure quite what.

“Two braids every morning? I should like that.” Thorin dipped his head and pressed a sloppy kiss to Bilbo’s lips before nosing the curl he’d just tugged. He let his hand slide up from Thorin’s shoulder, trailing along his neck until it was buried in the locks. Thorin pressed into the touch, his rhythm faltering as Bilbo pulled the locks. Oh, that was exquisite.

“I could braid it like this.” Bilbo mused, unable to stop from speaking. He could see it in his mind. Thorin resting against the headboard while Bilbo rocked on his lap, braiding his hair and having his own hair braided. Dwarf’s considered hair braiding to be one of the most intimate things a lover could do. He imagined Thorin would probably embrace the idea.

Thorin rolled his hips against Bilbo, hard and fast, and Bilbo arched into the wonderful feeling. A moan fell unbidden from his lips, "Yes!” Thorin instantly slowed himself, that confounded restraint once again falling into place. But oh, he’d loved that. He wanted more. He knew he didn’t have Thorin completely free from his control.

“Don’t you dare try and treat me like I’m delicate.” He pressed his cheek against Thorin’s, savoring the feel of the dwarf pressed up against him, inside him. So strange but so necessary. He needed more, he could feel the pleasure coiling in his belly already, and every slow thrust sent sparks dancing across his skin but the idea of Thorin completely free... “I’m a gardener, not one of the flowers.” Another slow thrust, just short of what he really wanted. “Remember what you said after I braided your hair?”

“I,” a bit of a harder thrust, “am claimed.” Bilbo shuddered as Thorin pressed in deep, right against the spot that made stars burst in his vision and pleasure spark along his nerves.

“Yes, yes,” he panted out. “That’s what I want. To be claimed. Come on, harder. Earn the braid.”

Thorin panted against his ear as he did what Bilbo asked. He thrust his hips hard and quick, taking Bilbo with an abandon that was nearly wild.

“Gonna take a bit more.” Bilbo grinned his challenge and met the thrusts as well as he could. Thorin moved powerfully until Bilbo was gripping his shoulders and still sliding up the bed with each movement. He met Thorin’s body as well as he could, rolling his hips and relishing the sound of their bodies moving against and with each other.

Thorin used his greater height to his advantage. He curved his body over Bilbo’s to press a kiss to his lips. Deep and claiming, insistent and devouring. Delicious in a way that made Bilbo want more. The tension in belly was curling tighter, bright and warm and ready to break. He needed it, yearned towards it and moved against Thorin harder. Taking his pleasure.

Thorin twisted his hips and pressed against Bilbo, and then just held. “Now.” he growled in Bilbo’s ear, then, with a twist of his hips and a bite on Bilbo’s lobe, he wrenched it from Bilbo’s eager throat.

His peak was brighter than any he had ever had, and seemed to take all his energy with it. Thorin trembled against him, breath rough in his throat, and pressed his cock deeper, a wordless plea. Bilbo kept his hips rolling, encouraging Thorin to keep moving while he tried to see past the stars dancing in his vision and the ecstasy racing through his veins.

“Zu guchirazuh, Bilbo. (You are mine, Bilbo.) Mazatâlgâb ana zatagirf zu uduh. (No one will take you from me.)” Thorin rumbled low, like the shock of thunder on a clear day. His voice so deep, his chest so close that Bilbo could feel it like a buzz in his skin. He buried his fingers back into Thorin’s hair and pulled at the same time he dug his heels into Thorin’s back.

Thorin came with a roar and final thrust. He held still, pressed as close to Bilbo as he could, and bit down on his neck. He shuddered through his climax, gripping Bilbo close. The dwarf’s chest heaved, his body curved in a hunch. One of his hands was fisted in the pillow, the other was holding Bilbo’s hip as though it would actually hurt him to release it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm just going to go nervously hide now...


	17. Chapter 17

Thorin’s breath came in damp, hot puffs on his shoulder, and Bilbo’s body, still tingling, seemed to crave the feeling of it. His hand had wandered between their chests to rub at the muscles there. He could feel a long scar up the side of Thorin’s stomach, and several smaller ones scattered about. They weren’t as scary in post-coital bliss.

He hummed when he finally caught his breath, and Thorin pushed himself up. He hadn’t even realized the dwarf was resting his weight on him until it was removed. The dwarf released his hip and brought his fingers to Bilbo’s cheek. He trailed the skin there and then brushed one of his many stray curls back.

“Kurduh, zu mazatâgrîf ranakuh.” (My heart, you have stolen my senses.)

He tapped Thorin’s nose with the hand he’d been gripping Thorin’s shoulder with and smiled sloppily. His lips weren’t quite up to working properly yet. “Can’t understand khuzdul.” He managed with a bit of effort.

“Khuzdul?” Thorin asked with a confused furrow of his brow. Bilbo he could feel the word rumble through Thorin’s chest and over his entire body. The dwarf’s hand tightened against the pillow and Bilbo watched as the muscles in his arms flexed from the motion. He lowered his weight a touch and it was deliciously perfect. Bilbo stretched up into him, feeling a bit like the great cat Thorin had accused him of being earlier.

“You’re speaking in it, âzyungâl.(lover) Have been for a while. Though I know a few words, I’m not quite fluent yet.” He settled back against the bed and ran his other hand down Thorin’s shaggy chest. He’d left a few scratch marks. His own neck was throbbing with a dull pain from where Thorin had bitten him in the end.  

The dwarf laughed and gave his head a shake. His hair fell back over his shoulder, partially obscuring his face. “A moment, and I shall see us cleaned.” His accent was still thick, each word curling a little more than it needed to.

“Take your time. I told you we were having a lie-in.” He pressed back in the bed lazily and decided he’d have his items moved here. Thorin’s bed was much nicer, after all.

Thorin was good to his word and washed Bilbo off with gentle wipes before he discarded the rag and curled up behind Bilbo. His arm draped over him and tugged him close until they were curved together. It was really the perfect morning for a kip, and he could already feel himself starting to sink into the warm bliss of sleep.

He had to pull on all his hobbit strength to stay awake.

“So, you need to go to Erebor.” Thorin’s hand stopped trailing along his arm, which he hadn’t really even noticed. It helped push away a bit of the sleepiness. Lips pressed to the back of his shoulder and held there for a moment, warm and soft. Perfect in almost every way.

The non-existent romantic was melting again.

“While it would offer Nori the chance to learn the information he requires, I do not see that it is possible. My father would allow me no freedom. I would be little more than a prisoner, locked away in my chambers. Any who traveled with me would meet the same delima. I fear that even Nori’s skills would be rendered moot.”

“Then you need an excuse to get at the court? To mingle?”

“Essentially.” Another kiss and the brush of Thorin’s beard. His hand moved under Bilbo’s arm and spread over his stomach, dragging him further back and closer to Thorin’s chest. The dwarf was like an inferno. No… that wasn’t quite right… He was a forge.Warmth that never faded and burned steadily. Bilbo wanted to curl around him and leech of the warmth.

“Something like a betrothal?”

Thorin stilled and his entire body tensed. His hand stopped its soft, steady caress, and Bilbo felt his breath escape in a huff against his skin that ruffled his curls. “Ghivashel, do not do such a thing for-” the urgency, near pain, in Thorin’s voice hurt. He interrupted without real thought.

“Thorin, hobbits don’t toy.” He laid his hand over Thorin’s and turned his head so that he could see the dwarf’s face. His eyes were so very blue and uncertain. They should never look that way. Certainly not because of Bilbo.

He was something Thorin could be, and should be, certain of. “I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t intend to marry you. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t intend to marry you.” He curled his fingers around a hank of Thorin’s hair. “Zatazirikh,” and he butchered the pronunciation of that but Thorin’s eyes widened none the less, “remember?”

“You would tell me now?” Thorin asked heavily, slightly incredulous. He wasn’t quite meeting Bilbo’s eyes. He looked young and shy. Almost boyish in his hope. “Now that you know the truth of me?”

Bilbo rolled his upper body over to better be able to see Thorin. He pressed his hand against Thorin’s chest, right over his heart and the bruise covering his ribs. “I’m sorry, were you absent a few minutes ago?” He leaned forward and brushed his nose against Thorin’s throat. “That was me advancing the courtship.” He chuckled, and it felt heavy on his tongue. Not quite natural, but Thorin didn’t notice. He didn’t want Thorin to think that he had only slept with him to get his hand. Which was a little silly, honestly. Perhaps Thorin’s touch had addled his brain more than he’d thought. “Was I too subtle?”

Thorins chuckle was quick and wicked. “No.” His heavy hand rubbed Bilbo’s back as his eyes trailed over Bilbo’s still naked body. “But I would not have you decide-”

“You offered your heart only to take it back now?” He dropped his own gaze and swallowed. He clenched his jaw and released Thorin’s hair. The terror from yesterday evening was already coming true.

“My apologies, ghivasheluh. I was not withdrawing my offer.” Thorin’s hand moved to his face and a finger tilted his chin back up. “I was merely offering you the time to think that you denied yourself earlier.”

“I’ve done nothing but think for two months, Thorin.” He shivered and tried to meet Thorin’s eyes. His heart was hammering so quickly in his chest that he could hardly breathe. He felt nearly ill.

“Bilbo, you truly wish to wed?”

“Yes, you big lump.”

“Is this to a name that will stay for long?” Bilbo nodded his head, feeling relief wash through his entire body.

“Until you stop acting lump like.”

“I must confess that I prefer âzyungâl.” The dwarf paused and raised an eyebrow. “Who taught you that word?” There was a dangerous edge to his tone. Jealousy, unless Bilbo was mistaken.

Which was a bit odd, and nice. Bilbo probably shouldn’t like it, but he did. It hardly seemed the sort of thing likely to change, so it was probably good he liked it. It probably had something to do with the fact that he could hardly believe Thorin, rock hard dwarf that he was, would find Bilbo attractive. Bilbo who was a little to round, soft, short, and short haired to be attractive by dwarf standards. Still, he wasn’t the sort to look a gift horse in the mouth. Thorin did find him desirable. There was a dull ache between his legs to remind him of that fact.

He stalled for a moment longer, and Thorin’s expression darkened all the more. He wanted to laugh. “Ori. I overheard him use it for Dwalin. He wasn’t going to tell me but Dori was near.”

“You blackmailed him?” Thorin’s eyes brightened and his lips quirked up in a grin.

“No. I simply used Dori’s appearance to my advantage.” Thorin dropped his head for a quick kiss that was nothing but a tease.

“I was so very wrong to say that gardeners were of no real use.”

There was something careful in Thorin’s tone that Bilbo didn’t quite know what to do with. He furrowed his brow while he thought back and placed the words.

“Well, to be fair, I had just kicked you.” They’d come rather a long way, all things considered. He’d thought Thorin handsome that night, but far too dangerous to fall for.

But who was a Took to fall for but a dangerous dwarf prince?

“And beauty,” Thorin went on as if Bilbo hadn’t said anything. “You were right then. It is hardly useless. You have gifted me with something pleasant to look at, something appealing to smell, something nice to touch.” His knuckles trailed over Bilbo’s cheek. It felt like the morning Thorin had asked to court him.

“Well, as I keep saying. It just needed a little care.” He combed his fingers through Thorin’s beard. There was small grin on the dwarf’s lip. “Anything will bloom with a little care.” He leaned in to steal a kiss before continuing. “You lied, you know.”

“About what?”

“You said that Dwarves were not comfortable.” He snuggled closer and let his eyes slip closed. “I strongly disagree. And I’m a hobbit, we know about comfort.”  

“You truly wish to wed?”

“Yes again.” He stole another kiss and tugged Thorin’s beard playfully. Thorin raised his eyebrow in waiting and Bilbo couldn’t stop a silly grin from lifting his lips. It was such fun to tease his dwarf-his _betrothed_. “Lump.”

-[]-[]-[]-

There was a rather unfortunate hitch in Bilbo’s step, and a rather knowing gleam in everyone elses eyes when they finally managed to leave the bedroom.

He had a feeling he would have been horribly teased if it weren’t for the immediate glare that Thorin shot everyone. His arm was draped over Bilbo’s shoulders and he half suspected that the dwarf was tempted to just carry him.

Which would never have happened.

If Thorin’s glare wasn’t enough of a deterrent, than the fact that he called for a meeting during lunch at least distracted them from teasing.

“Balin!” Thorin barked after they arrived downstairs. The dwarf kept leading him forward with both his hands on Bilbo’s shoulders. They went towards the kitchen right as Balin came out of it. “Where is Ori?”

Balin frowned and looked towards the garden. “With your nephews.”

“Collect him and meet me in the study.” Bilbo was turned towards the study and felt the eyes of the other dwarves following him. He was blushing horribly and couldn’t stop swallowing. It felt like the whole world was aware of what they’d just done. He wasn’t ashamed, he’d enjoyed himself and he loved Thorin, but he was embarrassed. Had he been terribly loud? He hadn’t been paying attention at the time…

It was horribly improper. Scandalous enough to make any hobbit blush.

“What’s going on?” Thorin released his right arm and tugged the door to his private study open. They strode inside and then the dwarf shut the door. He turned Bilbo to face him and smiled softly as he brought his hand up to cup his cheek.

“You have accepted my proposal.” He dipped his head, claiming Bilbo’s lips in a tingling kiss that stole his breath. Thorin lost himself in the kiss for several moments before he seemed to remember himself. “I am now to add the braid of betrothal to your hair.”

“Why Balin and Ori?”

“As the Prince I am required to maintain a certain...legality. There have to be witness to the act to verify it if there is any question. Balin is the older of my closest cousins. I am sorry it cannot be private Ghivasheluh”

“No need to apologize for being a prince. And Ori?” He didn’t mind someone witnessing it. He had said yes knowing that he would be in the publics eye. There would be very few moments of true privacy.

“A friend for you. The nearest to family you have in the manor. I can have someone else summoned if you prefer?”

“No,” Bilbo shook his head, trying to keep his grin from becoming truly ridiculous. “Ori is perfect. Thank you. Will I braid your hair as well?”

“If you would like.” Thorin’s eyes glittered in the fire light. He wanted the braid then.

“And the meeting?”

“We must start planning to leave for Erebor. It will take us two weeks travel to reach the mountain. It is a tiring journey through some dangerous lands. We will take everyone with us but my nephews. They will stay with Glóin’s wife and child. Bombur’s family will keep the house well tended. My other dwarrows will make certain that no one trespasses on the land.

“Two weeks?”

“On pony.” Thorin said with a nod. “We will send a raven to announce our appearance when we are a few days away. I will not risk anything more. I do not want my father to have the time to plan anything.”

“That bad?” Thorin didn’t have time to reply before the door was opening again. Balin walked in with Ori trailing un-certainly behind him. The older dwarf made a beeline for the chair closest to the fire and sat down with an expectant expression. Ori stood by the other chair and glanced at it with a frown. Bilbo offered him a reassuring smile and the dwarf sat down. Thorin moved forwards slowly with powerful steps that made him look taller and broader.

“Friends,” Thorin said with a dip of his head that made his hair fall over his shoulder. He had four braids now. He was about to have one undone and remade in a different pattern. “I have asked you here to bear witness to the final stage of my courtship with Master Bilbo Baggins. He has accepted my proposal of marriage and the agreed to wear my braid as a public declaration.

“Oh that’s wonderful!” Ori exclaimed with a clap. He craned his head to see Bilbo and beamed at him. Thorin motioned for him to join him at his side. He went quietly, smiling and with his head held high.

“Balin, will you witness as my family?” Balin nodded his head and looked pleased. His eyes were soft and looked full of memory. Bilbo wondered if he was remembering a younger Thorin or thinking of something else.

“Ori?” He spoke up for the first time since they had entered. “I ask that you witness as my family.” Ori’s grin, which was a large , giddy thing, grew all the more. His ears flushed red and he ducked his head for a moment before meeting Bilbo’s eyes.

“It would be my honor.” They shared a long smile, and something in Bilbo’s chest, by his heart, a hard painful thing he hadn’t even really noticed, broke. The weight of it faded away like sand in water. He was marrying Thorin and gaining a wonderful family from that. He had dwarves who wanted to be his family, to support him.

Dwarves who thought he was enough.

“Then, with your blessings, I would begin.”

“Bijabuh bekne bulhû.” Balin said at the same time Ori said: “I witness this binding.” Thorin dipped his head again and turned to face Bilbo.

“Ghivashuh?”(My treasure)

“Gajum.” (Please) It was one of the very few words he knew, and the use of it made Thorin’s eyes light up. He tilted his head to the side to allow a his courtship braid to fall. Thorin brought his hands to the hair and gently freed the curls of the braid that currently bound them. A moment later Thorin was weaving a new braid. The back of his fingers brushed against Bilbo’s cheek as he worked. He moved closer as he braided, his larger body almost curling around Bilbo. Small beads were woven with the strands, and the braid was sealed with a larger bead that had the rune Thorin wore in his own hair.

“Zatazirikhuh zu anakigh yâsûnhuhab.” (I claim you as my chosen.)

He released the braid and it fell heavily against his ear. The bead was cool against his skin and the braid was wider than the previous had been. He stood still for a moment, breathing and trying to steady himself.

Thorin tilted his own head and Bilbo stepped closer. He reached for Thorin’s courtship braid and undid it. “I’ll need instructions again.” He murmured as he stepped closer. Thorin was a head taller than him, which made it a bit more difficult to braid his hair like this. Thorin bent his head down next to Bilbo’s head and whispered his instructions in his deep, rumbling voice. It was all Bilbo could do to focus on the movement of his fingers and which strand of the braid was which. It was not fair that Thorin had such a fantastic voice.

The braid was thicker than the courtship had been, and harder to miss. The sight of it Thorin’s hair made a part of him, one he hadn’t really been aware of until Thorin, purr happily. It was obvious that Thorin was claimed. That he was taken.

He clasped the final bead and let it slip from his fingers. He took a step back, letting his fingers slide down Thorin’s locks as he did so. “Shândabuh zu zatazirikh.” (I accept your claim.) He managed not to stumble over the words too badly. Thorin was an excellent teacher.

“Congratulations you two.” Balin said as he stood up. He gave Bilbo’s hand a shake and grabbed Thorin’s shoulder to go in for a head bump while Ori stood up as well. He started to go for a handshake but Bilbo pulled him into a hug.

“We will have to celebrate with a feast. I’ll tell Bombur to-”

“No my friend, I am afraid there will be little time for that.” Thorin’s hand lighted on Bilbo’s back and he released Ori. The dwarf would have to go prepare. “Gather the others in the dining room. Do not tell them what has transpired. We have much to do.” Balin nodded his head and, with one last curious glance, left the room. Ori followed, not quite smiling, and not quite worried. The door clicked shut behind them.

Thorin pulled him backward with a vice grip and peered down at him with vivid eyes. “We have but a moment.” He warned and then he was kissing Bilbo. A kiss unlike any other he had enjoyed. He kissed as though he was trying to drink Bilbo in, trying to solve him, searching for something, possibly something indefinable. His lips were soft, pliant. When Bilbo finally had enough wits to kiss back Thorin ran a hand through Bilbo’s hair, tugging lightly at his new braid, and the kiss deepened, sending a thrill of pleasure to the tips of Bilbo’s toes.

He would take as many moments like this as he could get.


	18. Chapter 18

The dwarves tried very hard to get a party going in the first five minutes that they were all in the dining room. 

Bilbo’s back was clapped, his hand was shaken, and he was very nearly lifted off the ground by Bifur. Dwalin gave Thorin a head butt that made Bilbo’s headache, and there was a loud call for ale.

They really should have expected it. The braids were anything but subtle and the dwarves were a rambunctious, cheerful lot. They would look for any reason to celebrate, especially with the recent shadow of danger that the attacker had brought.

It took Thorin yelling in a voice that he probably reserved for battle to make everyone still. Fíli and Kíli both jumped in surprise. Fíli tried to look like he hadn’t while Kíli grinned sheepishly. Bilbo offered them a smile that felt a little thin, but he was oddly nervous.

“My thanks for your well wishes.” Thorin said regally with a little dip of his head. He smiled softly at his nephews and they both relaxed. “We have not come to celebrate. I am afraid that any feast will have to wait.”

The door to the hall burst open and Nori staggered in. He was covered in more dirt and leaves than he had been the previous evening. There was a bruise developing on his right cheek and a cut over his eye. Bofur was at his side before Bilbo could even blink. “Sorry I’m late.”

“I will hear your report in a minute, Guchir mukhuhâl.” (Master Spy) Thorin turned back to his other dwarves and his expression darkened. “The spy has been traced back to Erebor herself.”

“What?” Glóin growled. “The D was a Durin?”

“Likely. We will make for the royal city at first light tomorrow. We will go under the ruse of declaring our betrothal to my father. He will have to announce it before the court, and there will be at least one feast to celebrate.”

“During which I’ll have access to the rooms.” Nori noted. He was smiling slightly though it looked pained. He was standing between Dori and Bofur. He had his weight resting on the latter, and Dori kept eyeing him worriedly out of the corner of his eye. Ori was sneaking glances from his spot by Dwalin’s side.“That’ll be useful.”

“Then you’re not betrothed?” Fíli asked uncertainly after Kíli whispered in his ear.

“We are.”  Bilbo rushed. He squeezed Thorin’s hand where it was secretly grasping his. It was hidden from view by the fur lined coat Thorin was wearing. “The only pretend bit will be the royal declaration.”

“My father will believe I am asking his permission.”

“Which you aren’t. It’s quite risky.” Balin pointed out needlessly. Though, as far as Bilbo could tell, that was his job. Thorin tended to rush past boring details of impossibility. Or he simply forgot to mention why they weren’t impossible. His first attempt to ask Bilbo to court was an excellent example.

“Yet necessary. If they truly have come from my father’s house, he may be in danger. If they have come from him, we will put a stop to such things.”

Should Fíli and Kíli actually be present for this? That was their grandfather after all. He couldn’t imagine having to hear that someone in his family had wanted to harm him.

They didn’t look surprised though. That made Bilbo sad in a deep place in his chest. One that was forever throbbing from the loss of his family and home.

“You two will stay with Nara and Gimli. Will that be alright?” Thorin’s tone was soft, and his gaze focused solely on his nephew. They stood taller under the gaze and looked stronger.

“Yes sir.”

“Ma!” Kili declared with a determined nod.

“Thank you. We’ll return as swiftly as we can. I expect you to both make certain they stay safe.” Fili nodded his head importantly.

“Bombur, will Fama be able to tend the manor?”

“The kids and her will keep it well, sir.” Thorin nodded his thanks and turned back to the rest of the company.

“Make the necessary preparations. We will leave at first light. Glóin, Bifur, Nori, with me please. I must see to the other guards.”

They all filed out of the room and Bilbo found himself not quite knowing what to do. He would only take a half hour or so to pack his possessions, even with the gifts Thorin had given him. What was he supposed to do with the remainder of the day? Was there someone specific he was expected to help? Everyone else clearly knew what to do.

He could go out to the garden and take care of a few delicate plants and then help Bombur with provisions…

Bilbo made his way upstairs slowly, still mindful of how he walked. He had always heard that it would be uncomfortable afterward but they hadn’t mentioned that he’d be sore. He didn’t even want to think about riding a pony. It was not going to be fun.

-[]-[]-[]-

It only took him twenty minutes to pack. He left the bundle on his bed and went to the garden (Bombur was picking vegetables and two other dwarves who guarded the land were walking about). He set up a few supports for the vines to latch onto when they got larger and pulled a few weeds.

He then made his way into the kitchen and set to baking a few batches of waybread. It traveled well and would give them something to snack on during the day. Most everything else would have to be made more regularly. He could make scones, and dry a bit of meat, but there wasn’t time for much. Vegetables would need to be packed for Bifur (and he’d enjoy them as well) but on the large scale of things, meat didn’t travel well.

Bombur joined him after a while and taught him a recipe for a ‘tack’ bread which was a hard bread that would hold up well to travel. He taught him the proper way to bind ingredients for the road as well as how to pack spices.

He then took over watching Fíli and Kíli so that Ori could pack. He took them to the garden to learn about useful plants. Fíli remembered well, and liked learning the plants useful for aid best. Kíli was easily distracted so Bilbo counted himself lucky if he could remember which category the plant fell into.

The day passed slowly, but steadily. They were called in for dinner, which consisted of a meat pie that smelled delightful.

Thorin was at the head of the table, and the seat next to his was empty. Bilbo took it with a smile and settled down comfortably. Thorin’s hand settled on his knee under the table, and the meal was served. There wasn’t much talk outside of questions for the next day. There was a quiet sense of apprehension in the air that gave no hint of leaving.

He ate his meal without saying much. Everyone seemed to know what to do so he decided it would be best to listen. He could listen and learn. Next time, he’d be able to move without needing to talk either.

They all seemed to be in charge of different things. Óin was in charge of medicine and first aid, with Balin assisting him. Glóin, Bifur, and Dori were in charge of weapons. Bombur was working with food, which Bilbo had assisted with. Ori was assisting Bofur with the ponies and the additional supplies. They would eat on the road in the morning.

Their path would lead them over the Gladden fields, then along the Old Forest Road, through Lake town, past Dale, and finally to Dale. It would be a lot of miles in little time. They had to be quick. Every day that passed was another one that gave the villains time to more thoroughly cover their tracks.

He escorted the children to their bedroom after dinner and read them a story before playing a few rounds of a dwarf dice game. He then told them another story before putting them to bed. He wandered down to the kitchen to see if anything else needed doing and helped Bombur put a few items away until they returned.

There was nothing else to do. He bid Bombur good night and went upstairs to his room. He would read for a while then retire for the evening. Thorin was still probably discussing their path with Balin. He pushed his door open and set a candle on the dresser. He undid the top  button on his shirt and  turned to deposit it on the bed. He paused, and stared at the now-familiar quilt.

It was empty. His pack was missing, and in its place was a small note. He picked it up and smiled almost instantly at the familiar scrawl.

_Your items are awaiting you in my room. -Thorin_

It was short and simple. Nothing showy or even seemingly affectionate. Bilbo didn’t need it to feel that way. The fact that Thorin had taken his items was enough of a testament. He was probably holding a grudge against the pack for nearly being used on a trip to Gondor.

He buttoned his shirt back up and grabbed the candle. He went down a floor, managing to avoid any other dwarves. He slipped into Thorin’s room unobserved and smiled helplessly at the sight of his pack sitting next to Thorin’s. There was a daisy sitting on his pillow and his smile just grew all the larger. He set the candle aside and discarded his shirt. The bed was as soft as it had been earlier. the pillow’s smelt like Thorin and he wrapped the fur around his shoulders, imagining it was Thorin’s arms.

He’d left his book in his room so he grabbed one of Thorin’s off his bookshelf. It was clearly the oldest one on the shelf and very well worn. It had been read countless times. The title was basically rubbed off, so he wanted to know what his husband - to - be had enjoyed reading so much.

It was the history of the line of Durin. Starting with their creation by Aule. It was written in the manner of a fairy tale with a delicious sense of magic. Time melted away as he let himself get absorbed in the story. He sank deeper into the fur and buried his toes under the quilt. He reclined against the pillows and before he quite knew what he was about, he fell asleep.

He woke later to a light touch against his cheek. He blinked sleepily and saw a wave of dark hair as the book was gently tugged from his hands. He was laid back properly and the fur was tugged up over his shoulders. He slipped into the place between sleep and awake once more, and then Thorin was curling up behind him.

“Thorin?” He garbled the name a little, which earned him a laugh. A kiss was brushed to his neck and Thorin nosed at his curls.

“Yes?”

“How did it go?”

“Well. Sleep now. We’ll leave early. You’ll need your energy.” Thorin’s arm draped over his chest. “Thank you for joining me. I meant to ask you to move in after this morning, but I was rather distracted.” Bilbo wrapped his hand around Thorin’s arm and let his eyes slip close.

“Of course. Your bed’s nicer.” He yawned and snuggled into the fur.

“I am glad it could entice you, Ghivashel."

Bilbo turned over and peered up at Thorin. The dwarf looked exhausted. His eyes were bloodshot and there were sleep deprived bruises starting to appear under his eyes. He was pale and seemed weary. "It wasn't just the bed." He murmured and pressed a hand against Thorin's chest. The fabric of his tunic was soft and warm. Oh he liked the feel of it. He liked laying next to the dwarf. He liked sharing warmth under a fur. He was loving talking before sleeping and waking knowing that Thorin would be there...

He could spend his life like that. Not the same comfortable life that married hobbit’s enjoyed, of course. A comfort unlike theirs, but one he could live very happily with. He was part Took, after all, and that meant the thirst for adventures was in his very blood.

In return for everything the dwarf wa giving him, he would make certain that Thorin knew all the comforts a home could have to offer. Wherever they were. He would make their shared bed rolls a safe place. Even if there wouldn’t be time for anything else. Thorin would feel cherished and rested.

After all, none understood comfort better than a hobbit.

"Indeed?" Thorin purred with a smooth smile that promised a far later night than was wise.

Bilbo tucked his feet against Thorin and gave him a soft smile in return. "The company was far more appealing."  He pressed a kiss to Thorin's lips and tried not to get too lost in it. They really did need to sleep. "We leave tomorrow. I don't imagine we'll have time for much… exploring."

“No. The road does not allow for such privacy." Thorin's voice was mournful, amusingly so. Flattering as well. Bilbo couldn't help but smile. "I do however have a large and very private room in Erebor."

“Mmm… I look forward to seeing it.” Bilbo returned. He tucked his head against Thorin’s throat and hugged him close for a few long moments. Sleepiness was already stealing over him again. He squeezed his dwarf tight and then released the prince so that he could roll back over. He pressed against Thorin’s chest and smiled sleepily when the dwarf draped an arm over him.

Thorin pressed another kiss to his shoulder and Bilbo fell back into his dreams with a sleepy smile.

-[]-[]-[]-

The morning dawned far too brightly. They packed their ponies and climbed up with fairly little trouble. Bilbo’s pony was large and seemed to realize the minute that Bilbo drew near that Bilbo did not know what he was doing. She was going to go wherever she wanted.

Thankfully, she seemed to have a crush on Thorin’s pony. She kept following the brown haired pony with wide eyes. Bilbo found that extremely funny, but didn’t say anything.

He was by Thorin’s side in the travel line. Balin and Dori were behind them, then Nori and Ori, Bombur and Bofur, Bifur and Oin, and finally Glóin and Dwalin in the rear. Each row had a ‘fighter’ and every dwarf was armed with something. Óin had the medical supplies; Bombur, Bofur, and Bifur had the food; Dwalin, and Glóin had the weapons; Ori, Nori, and Balin had the additional supplies. Everyone had their own packs as well. Bilbo and Thorin were exempt from carrying extra supplies. He asked why and it took Thorin several minutes to answer him.

“If there is an attack, we must be able to ride away swiftly. You are now my consort, more or less. You are to be protected as much as I am to be protected.”

“So if we’re ambushed we are supposed to race off?”

“That is the intention.” Thorin’s tone made it sound as though it would not be the reality. Bilbo, for his part, had no intention of leaving the others.

The idea of actually getting caught in a fight didn’t really seem real. He’d been shot, and he’d seen Thorin wounded, but it seemed like something that only happened in stories.

“Bilbo,” Thorin called softly, stealing his attention away from the path in front of them. “Should it come to a battle, promise me you will flee if I tell you to do so.”

Bilbo raised his eyebrow and gave his head a little shake. He was most certainly not going to leave Thorin or the company. He’d help them until his dying breath. That was what family did. “I most certainly will not.”

“Bilbo,” Thorin’s voice held a note of warning but Bilbo ignored it and charged forward. The others followed and they galloped down the path.

The day was warm, almost hot. The sky was clear and a gentle breeze drifted over the land. It was a perfect day for riding, and they set a quick pace. The miles seemed to melt away as they trotted on, farther east than Bilbo had ever been. They stopped by a creek to water the horses and partake of a quick lunch. Thorin attempted to continue the earlier conversation but Bilbo avoided him. Myrtle continued to follow Thorin’s pony around with a slightly dazed expression while they took the break, and seemed excited to gallop next to him when they took off once more. It was too loud to continue talking while they rode, and the ride was uncomfortable. He was still quite sore from the previous morning, and the constant motion of the saddle just irritated the pain. They continued until the sun was low on the horizon and they found a bare bit of land that was surrounded by large rocks.

Thorin called for them to halt and then immediately set about giving everyone a job. He assigned Bilbo and himself to gathering extra firewood and they set off towards the only trees in the short distance. They were oak trees which made Bilbo smile, and ache dully for the comfortable manor and their soft beds.

Which was probably a bad thing. They’d only just left. He had a good month and a half before he got to see her again.

He captured Thorin’s hand when they were a few feet away from the camp and swung the joined limbs absently as they walked. The evening was promising to be a cool one, and he was looking forward to curling up by Thorin. He wanted to forget their worries and just enjoy a few moments as Thorin’s betrothed.

“Bilbo,” Thorin called softly, stealing his attention away from the path in front of them once again. He smiled at the dwarf, hoping for a pleasant conversation. “Will you not promise me you will flee if I tell you to do so?”

“I told you very plainly I would not.” He kept his tone as even as he could and refused to meet Thorin’s gaze.

The dwarf stopped and tugged Bilbo’s hand so that they were facing each other. “Do not fight me on this, please.”

“You can’t ask that of me. You can’t ask me to flee. I- I won’t lose someone because I was a coward.” He squeezed Thorin’s hand before releasing it and turning sharply on his heel. He hurried towards the tree as well as he could with the hitch in his step from their pleasure and how unaccustomed to riding he was. He ducked his head, trying to control the strange swell of emotion. He knew what it was like to have someone abandon him. He simply couldn’t do that to someone he loved. Thorin had no right to ask him that. He had no right to keep pushing the subject when Bilbo had plainly told him ‘no.’

He’d ignore him all night if he had to.


	19. Chapter 19

“Bilbo!” He didn’t stop but walked all the faster. He reached the tree and laid his hand against the bark of its trunk before kneeling down and gathering the fallen sticks. The ground was warm under his toes and the grass was soft as ever. He tried to swallow away the irritation and hurt, but it was thick in his throat. The tree and grass would offer him no comfort today.

“Bilbo!” Annoyed again. Thorin’s footsteps thudded across the grass until he was by Bilbo’s side because the royal dwarf could not take a hint.

“Do not run from me.” The warning in the tone nettled Bilbo all the more. He wasn’t going to be ordered around. Not when he was in a good mood, and certainly not when he was tired, sore, and grouchy. “I will not have you in unnecessary danger.”

Bilbo laughed, sharp and bitter. His curls bounced against his head as he gave it a hard shake. “Unnecessary? I won’t leave you lot to die to simply save my own skin. I don’t abandon anyone.” He growled the words and grabbed a stick with a fierce motion.

Thorin’s brow furrowed and hurt flashed in his eyes. “Nor do I.” He took a step back and his expression slid into careful indifference. Bilbo wanted to scream and kick at the dirt in frustration.

He hadn’t meant to imply that Thorin abandoned people. Thorin had most certainly not been who he was thinking of. Fitting that he should make Thorin feel unimportant and small though. It was apparently what Baggins men specialized in.

He was doomed to be like his father. To push the people he loved away and never really discuss anything. He might have looked like his mother, but he had his father’s heart. Able to fall fervently in love, and then incapable of getting out of his own mind long enough to see the hurt around him.

“You haven’t abandoned me yet.” He snapped instead of actually apologizing. He was angry, and the coal of it burned in his belly mixing with fear and hurt, and annoyance. Annoyance at himself for even yelling at Thorin, and annoyance at Thorin for not simply understanding. He waved the sticks around angrily and twisted his body. He couldn’t quite hold back a wince as another muscle was tugged. “I would think you were clever enough to figure out -”

“Ghivashel,” Thorin dropped by his side and grabbed the hand he was clenching the branches with. He soothed his thumb across Bilbo’s fist and tugged the branches away so that he could hold his hand properly. “I am sorry, I should have seen.” The blue eyes were too kind and he couldn’t look at Thorin’s dear face suddenly. He dropped his gaze to the fallen sticks instead.

They were safe.

He tried to push the emotions away. They weren’t necessary, and they’d risen up so quickly. He wasn’t sure why either. He blamed it on nerves and exhaustion, and, of course, fear. “I won’t.” He meant it to sound confident and final, but it was soft and scared. “I won’t leave any of you.”

Thorin, maddening, knowing dwarf that he was, caught Bilbo’s chin and turned him to look at him again. “I do not ask you to abandon us. I do not ask you to give up, kurduh. I ask that you stay alive. I will not be able to fight if I think you are in danger. I will be focused only on making certain you are safe. I would be of little use to anybody.”

“I won’t leave you. Any of you.” He shook his head and closed his eyes. Thorin held him close and tucked Bilbo’s head under his chin. “Don’t ask me to do that.”

“I should not ask you to do something that I will not do.” Thorin sighed heavily and dipped his head. “In truth, I should flee. I have a duty to my people to stay alive. I also have a duty to be a king worth following. Not some coward that would save his own skin at the cost of his dwarrows.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. No one thinks you’re a coward. Or they’re denser than a troll.” How bad were things in Erebor if they thought Thorin cowardly?

“We will likely not have any fight. We have only had two attacks on the road since I have lived at the manor. We will not discuss such things now.” He settled more comfortable and held Bilbo a little closer. “Forgive me, I was wrong to push you when you so clearly did not wish to speak.”

“I’m sorry.” He muttered into Thorin’s skin, suddenly exhausted. He’d overreacted. It had felt like his father, and that always left him emotional and aching.

How many hobbits had told him to simply leave him to his own devices? That his aid wasn’t wanted, and he should stop trying to give it to his father. The idea of actually leaving, of actually abandoning like his father had was terrifying.  Even now his heart was throbbing. He’d snapped to try and protect himself. He’d run away when he should have thought and tried to figure out why he’d begun to ache. It irritated him that running and closing up was Thorin’s instinct. How could he allow himself to do the same? He’d never been that way with anyone else

“Will you tell me why? Will you share your hurt and heart?”

“Father.” Was his one word answer. Thorin brushed a gloved hand over his head. He hadn’t spoken much about his father. Not since the night that his room had been broken into. It was an issue, one of his deepest. He’d never even spoken his pain out loud. The closest he had ever come was with Thorin. He could feel the urge to confide bubbling up in him again.

He’d almost told him before they’d started courting. Why would he fear that now?

“Ghivashel,”

“I always wonder why I couldn’t be enough.” Bilbo blurted. Bluntness would be his ally in this. After all, if one couldn’t be brutally honest with the person they were going to marry, they shouldn’t marry. He kept requesting Thorin’s trust. He couldn’t repay that with anything but trust.

His eyes were welling up with too many tears and he wouldn’t be able to hold them back for much longer. It was already stealing his voice. He croaked the words out more than anything else. “Why did he have to give up? Couldn’t I be worth living for? Why couldn’t he see that I needed him too?” He curled up close to Thorin and took the comfort his betrothed offered. By ignoring Thorin all day he’d simply made the problem worse than it was.

They sat in silence for long minutes.

“Because he was clearly a fool.” Thorin finally stated. His tone held a finality about it that made Bilbo feel oddly cherished. He lifted Bilbo up and pushed him far enough away that he could see his eyes. “You are very worth living for.” He was pulled close again and held tight. “That is why I asked you to leave. If I could not live, I would see that you do. You must live.” Thorin swallowed and held him still tighter, it was hard to breath but he needed the ache to remind him that it was real. “I will fight to stay by your side, but I need you to do the same.”

Bilbo nodded his head, not quite able to speak. There was a sharp pang in his chest that was hard to breathe around. It was melting from Thorin’s touch, but needed a bit more time before it was gone. He didn’t like to think about it, but he had more issues from his father than he’d thought.

Thorin sighed and gave his head a little shake. “Ghivashuh, you are not your father, no more than I am my father. We must not let their failures become our own.”

Wasn’t that simple? Easy to say, so very easy to say, but so hard to live.

Still… Thorin had told him his own fears. He understood the fear and pang. He knew what it was to fear becoming your father.

He truly didn’t think Bilbo was his father. “I know that. I’m not even sure why I just… I think I’m tired, sore, and nervous.”

“I am sorry. I would give you a massage if we were alone. I am afraid it will have to wait till we reach Erebor, or Lake Town at the very least.”

Bilbo gave him a tired smile. That sounded delightful, but maddeningly far away. “I’ll hold you to that.”

A momentary pause then, “Nervous?”

Bilbo’s smile turned wry. “We’re going to meet your father. Even if it is just pretend, he will probably not like me.”

“Which would once again show that he has grown to have very poor taste.” Thorin gathered up the discarded sticks. “He will be polite in public, Ghivashuh. He is almost certain to be rude in private. I am afraid that will be the consequence of being near me.”

“Then we’ll just have to retire early.” He felt oddly light, almost silly in it. Thorin was holding a pile of sticks beside him, his long hair mussed and his eyes large in the darkening day. The mark on his neck stood out against his fair skin and he was talking about a fairly morose subject. Bilbo had nearly been sobbing mere seconds ago.

But Bilbo felt like flying again. There was something magical about Thorin, apparently. Fanciful though the notion was, it felt right. Thorin had seen him in a not-so-great-light and had assessed what was wrong, and corrected it. He had coaxed Bilbo into sharing a thought he had never shared before and moved on to quietly share his own pain. The mutual trust was humbling, and thrilling. He had told Bilbo that his father was a fool for not staying, and promised not to leave.

Thrain would probably hate him, and a fight was very real and on the horizon, but he felt stronger. The ground didn’t seem quite so shaky under his feet, and his chest felt looser. Thorin knew one of his deepest secrets. He had listen and hadn’t laughed, run, or disregarded it. He simply told Bilbo that his father was… wrong.

He loved him. The feel of it was nearly overwhelming him. He could feel it in every limb, with every breath, even his hair tingled with the knowledge. He was going to marry this dwarf and they were going to take the world on. Crazy fathers be damned. Neither of them had needed Thorin or Bilbo, and they certainly did not need them. They had each other, and twelve other dwarves who thought they were very worth it.

“That is far more appealing than speaking with my father. I might choose to retire early even if he is merry.” He smiled, and though it was small, it was very real.

“All the more reason. Leave him in a festive mood.” Bilbo winked, feeling ludicrous. He hardly understood himself. Thorin would probably think him mad. He’d gone from furious to heart broken to flirting.

Maybe that was what love was.

Regardless of what Thorin asked of him, he would not leave in an attack though. That simply wasn’t going to happen.

Thorin chuckled quietly and gave his head a small shake. Bilbo watched his soft smile with a warm curl in his stomach. He closed the small distance between their bodies and gave his husband-to-be a tight hug. He curled up as close as he could with the sticks between them. He released him as quickly as he had grabbed him.

“Come on, Lump. We need to head back before the gossips decide we’re doing more than gathering sticks.”

“And I am a lump again. I had rather hoped you would forget the name.”

“Not a chance.”

-[]-[]-[]-

The dinner was cooking by the time they returned, and it only took a little longer for it to be served. There were a few curious glances sent their way but Thorin managed to silence them with one gaze.

They deposited the wood by the fire and took a spot that was a little removed from anyone else. He brought Thorin dinner and sat near him while they ate. Their knees were pressed together and their arms brushed with every other bite.

It grew quiet as they ate, but Bilbo was too preoccupied with the teasing touches to notice. He pressed closer to Thorin and risked a glance towards him. The dwarf had a very pleased smile and a soft light in his eyes. He turned back to finish his meal feeling inexplicably warm despite the overly cool breeze.

He set his plate aside and dusted off his hands when Thorin abruptly stood up and stepped in front of him. The dwarf’s glove covered hand was extended towards him. He tilted his head up and found  Thorin peering down at him with a smile that made Bilbo feel slightly dizzy. He clutched onto the fabric of his breeches and gazed at the smiling face with a raised eyebrow.

“Will you dance with me, Bilbo?” Thorin took a step closer so that his boots touched Bilbo’s feet. “Please?” He held his hand out, palm up and inviting.

“There’s no music?” Thorin’s grin just broadened, the joy in it not even slightly hidden by his beard.

“There will be.” Was his only answer. Bilbo dropped his gaze to the hand again and nodded his head. He placed his hand in the larger one and let Thorin help him up. The dwarf led him away from the fire towards the area they’d designated for sleeping. The other dwarves were already gathered, and a few had instruments. Bofur had a flute, Dwalin a violin, and Bombur had a drum. They were all smiling expectantly at Thorin and Bilbo.

“Thorin?”

The prince turned towards him slowly and tugged him nearer with the hand he had. Bilbo went willingly, pressing his free hand flat against Thorin’s chest, over his heart. no one else need know that he was melting.

“It is tradition,” Thorin said slowly as he placed his other hand over Bilbo’s waist, “for Hobbits to announce their interest with dancing?” Bilbo nodded his head, a silly grin playing on his lips.

“Yes,” he leaned closer so that no one else would hear them. “You romantic Lump.”

Thorin huffed a nearly silent laugh and pulled him closer. “Ori?” The young dwarf came forward with two flower crowns and Bilbo’s breath hitched audibly. His cheeks (and ears) flushed and he turned back to Thorin to find the dwarf smiling at him already.

The dwarf had incredible eyes. They were blue, of course, but a blue that was so pale it was almost silver. The irises were outlined with a dark blue, and streaks of grey dashed through. He was light in all the places Bilbo was dark.

The crowns were placed on top of their heads and the music started. A proper betrothal dance for a hobbit. Something slow and slightly sweet.

“Bilbo,” Thorin started. He worked his mouth as though he had more to say, but he clicked it shut again without actually saying anything. They were so close that Bilbo had to peer up to look at his face.

“You can lead.” He dipped his head and pressed his cheek against the broad, warm chest in front of him. A few other dwarves swayed around them but Bilbo paid very little attention. Three familiar voices, Bofur, Glóin, and Balin, started to sing to the tune and Bilbo curled all the closer.

Thorin lead him in slow, lazy circles that Bilbo hummed his way through. They continued through the first song and straight into the next, which was slightly faster. There was a slight hitch in the music and Bilbo looked over to see Dwalin passing the violin to Balin and taking Ori’s hand. Bofur was doing the same with Dori before joining Nori on the dance floor.

They’d even followed the tradition of allowing the couple the first dance to themselves.

That song reached an end and a livelier one replaced it. Bofur started belting the lyrics to the song while the dwarves not playing joined in with the ‘dancing.’ It was closer to a stomp than anything else. Bilbo showed them how to do a proper hobbit dance. Full of spins, jumps, claps, and their arms in the air. Thorin caught him at one point and spun him around in the air until he was dizzy from the motion and laughter. It was celebration of life and joy, and made the journey ahead seem very possible.

Glóin had his arm draped over Óin’s shoulder and they were doing a strange hopping type of thing. Dwalin was dancing close with Ori. He had a large grin on his brutish face and the small dwarf was beaming up at him. Bifur was bouncing beside Dori, who had put aside all semblance of properness and was laughing as the dwarf rambled in khuzdul. Nori was trying to outsing Bofur who was almost laughing to hard to sing at all. Balin was watching the entire thing with a small little smile and Bombur was trying to keep time while laughing at his brother and cousin.

Bilbo had been to dances since he had learned how to toddle around. He’d danced with countless partners, in hundreds of settings, with flowers, cakes, light, and music. He had danced with males, females, with children, adults, and family. He had slow danced, and bounced around a field in jubilee.

In all of that, he’d never been to a finer dance.


	20. Chapter 20

They put their bedrolls beside each other and Bilbo curled up against Thorin’s side with his head resting on the dwarf’s chest and the prince’s arm around his shoulders. He was warm and comfortable and drifted into sleep easily.

The peace didn’t last.

He woke violently in the middle of the night with a shout that was muffled into Thorin’s tunic. The dwarf wrapped his arm around Bilbo immediately and held him close while his head turned around and his other hand wielded a dagger that flashed with moonlight. Bilbo struggled for a moment before relaxing and pressing close. The blanket was tucked more securely around him and Thorin lowered the blade.

“Kurduh? (my heart)”

“It was nothing,” Bilbo breathed out, trying to get rid of the fine tremble in his limbs. He didn’t even remember what had frightened him, only that he had feared for his life for a horribly long moment. “A nightmare? I think?”

“You are safe.” Thorin pressed him closer and ran his hand up and down Bilbo’s back. The dagger was carefully hidden from sight again. He gave a hand signal to Dwalin, who was on watch and the dwarf went back to the log by the fire. He hadn’t even notice him nearing them.

“A knife? Where were you hiding that?”

“In my pillow.” That seemed dangerous and impractical.

“What if you catch on it?”

“I have always slept with a knife of some kind.” Thorin shrugged dismissively. “Since I was old enough to hold one.”

“Wait, even at home?” He wasn’t certain why he was asking, he just didn’t want to talk about what had happened. Adrenaline was still pouring through his body and he almost wanted to go for a jog.

“Yes.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about that.” Thorin’s hand ran up to cup the back of his head. Large fingers combed through his hair and a sharp nose brushed over his forehead.

“I did not ask, nor do I care. I will not have you in danger while we rest. It is not in a place where you would find it.” They were silent for a moment. “Do you remember what the dream was about?”

He shook his head and nuzzled at Thorin’s tunic. He could smell the dwarf on it, and that was comforting in a way that nothing else was.

“You thrashed in your sleep the last two nights as well.” Bilbo’s brow furrowed as he thought that over. The night had grown colder while they slept and the blanket no longer felt quite so thick. Thorin was warm and he pressed closer, tucking his feet beside Thorin’s.

“I did? I don’t remember.”

“You never woke. I pulled you closer and you settled. I think it was the warmth of another body.”

That made sense. The worst nightmares were always about being alone. “Perhaps you should ask Óin about something to aid your sleep? We have far to travel and we will all need to be well rested. Especially with watch rotations.” Thorin’s lips pressed against his forehead for a brief moment.

“I might if it continues…”

“We ride through Mirkwood soon. There will be plenty of herbs there. Don’t worry about depleting our supplies.”

Bilbo tried to hide his small smile. It was odd, and nice, to have someone know him so well. “None will think less of you for unpleasant dreams. We all suffer from them. No one here will judge you anymore than you would judge us.”

The conversation drifted to woods and elves and plants until Bilbo fell back asleep. They had one day down, and thirteen more until they made it to Erebor.

Thirteen days until he met the dwarf that had made Thorin’s life so difficult.

He wasn’t sure he could be ready by that time.

-[]-[]-[]-

Bilbo woke up to the feeling of something tickling his nose. He sneezed softly and that motion, more than anything else, woke him up. The sun was nearly up and the heat of the new day was far more pleasant than the chill of the night had been.

Someone was laying on his chest, and it was their hair that had tickled his nose and made him sneeze. He sucked in a surprised breath and the scent of smoke, metal, and earth filled his nostrils.

 _Thorin_.

A strange giddiness filled Bilbo’s chest and his arms tightened around the sleeping dwarf. He was draped half on Bilbo’s chest; his head tucked under Bilbo’s chin, his legs between both of Bilbo’s, and his arm looped around the Hobbit. They’d completely switched positions at some point in the night.

He’d never actually had Thorin fall asleep on him. He’d fallen on Thorin several times, the dwarf was warm and always wore soft things at night, but Thorin seemed to prefer holding.

He was still holding. The dwarf’s arm gripped Bilbo when he fidgeted and he let the dwarf pull him close. His eyes drifted to look at the sleeping face as best he could, and he studied him for a moment before turning his gaze on the camp.  A few dwarves were just rousing, but most were still asleep. Bombur, who’d been given the last watch, was pittering with the soup pot and munching on something.

It was quiet.

He could have easily closed his eyes and slipped back into a peaceful sleep. Thorin laying on his chest was surprisingly comfortable, and might just be one of his favorite sensations. While he enjoyed spreading out on top of Thorin, it was fundamentally different from having Thorin on top of him. Thorin was a heavy, warm, solid force that weighed him down onto the bedroll and made him feel tethered to the world. Like he wouldn’t just float away. It was solid and reassuring.

It felt remarkably safe.

It took a kiss on the forehead and a tug on his braid to wake the dwarf prince up. He blinked blearily, smiled, gave Bilbo a proper kiss, and then pushed himself up. He checked the boundaries while Bilbo aided Bombur with breakfast. The rest of the dwarves got moving when the food was served, and they set off for another day riding.

They rode faster than Bilbo would have thought possible. The country was pretty and the road well traveled. Still, the terrain wasn’t all that simple and they were traveling by the path. Bilbo couldn’t imagine how difficult it would be if you had to make your own way.

Still, it didn’t feel like they had made it much farther at the end of the day. There wasn’t any dancing at night, but there was plenty of singing and stories. They fell asleep as they had the previous night and woke in the same manner.

On the third night they camped on the outer edges of Mirkwood. The forest was thick and eery. The trees blocked almost all the light in the forest, and moaned in the wind. It felt like something was watching them from inside. Something unnatural with ill intentions.

He had the first watch, and was to be relieved by Thorin for the second watch.

He was given a spot near the fire and an extra blanket to stay warm. Thorin made certain he had his sword and an extra dagger. (He had no idea where the dwarf had hidden it. He’d blinked and Thorin had it in hand.)

Thorin’s hand was warm against his arm and squeezed gently. His nose brushed against Bilbo’s cheek, cold and distracting. “I can sit with you if you would like, Ghivashel (Treasure of Treasures).” Everyone else was pretending to get ready for sleep. It was something he’d have to get used to. Thorin would be surrounded by guards when he inherited the throne. There would always be someone there. Guards at the door, guards when they walked, guards when they talked. No matter what they did, they would rarely be alone.

“I’ll be fine. You need your rest. I’m not certain what is wrong with that forest but… it feels almost ill. We’ll all need all the rest we can get.” He smiled as brightly as he could and grabbed Thorin’s hand. “If I see anything I’ll shout.”

“Simply kick anything that disturbs you. I have no doubt it will flee in fear.” He winked, and Bilbo had to laugh.

“I’ll do that.” He gave Thorin’s hand another squeeze and stepped back. He sat down on the log and smiled up Thorin. “Pleasant dreams, my prince.” Thorin watched him for a moment without moving. His face was shadowed by the fire and only a faint glow of his eyes could really be clearly seen. It reminded him forcibly of that night. Thorin had been bathed only in fire light then. Gorgeous and so dangerous.

He’d been remarkably right.

“Wake me when the moon is there.” He pointed towards the sky and Bilbo took a minute to memorize the spot.

“That’s when my watch will be over?” Thorin gave his head a little shake and, with a quick glance around the camp, leaned down so that he was hovering over Bilbo, his body barely not touching.

“Not quite.” He stood back up and strode towards their bedrolls. Bilbo watched with a grin, enjoying the sight of Thorin getting ready for rest and the idea of stolen kisses by the fire.

The dwarves drifted to sleep slowly, and then it got interesting. Half the dwarves snored, two talked in their sleep, and there always seemed to be at least one dwarf awake. Nori had trouble just dropping off, and chatted with Bilbo for a while. Mainly because Bofur fell asleep the minute his head hit his pillow, and snored loudly. Nori had tried to follow him into sleep, Bilbo had watched them curl up close and simply drop off, but he didn't seem able to. 

He had really wanted to dislike Nori after the trick. He disliked that he’d been so easy to read, and that Nori would have mistrusted him.

He simply… didn’t.

Nori had worried about his brothers, Thorin, and Bofur. All of the dwarves clearly weren’t the type to trust easily. From what little he had learned of their past, they had reason. The dwarf had also spent the last few months in less than pleasant circumstances to aid Thorin.

That was reason enough to like him.

Dwalin woke a while into the watch and laid rigidly facing the forest. It was only when Ori curled close to him that he relaxed his stiff posture. He could hear them whispering, but tried not to eavesdrop.

The woods were far more eery at night. The leaves rustled constantly, even when there was no breeze. The shadows seemed to grow longer through the night, and they danced across the trees and grass. The longer Bilbo stared at it the more it seemed like bodies were ducking between the trees. They disappeared any time he blinked.

He liked it better when the others were talking. Even their snoring was a nice distraction. It let him know he wasn’t alone.

He didn’t care for the idea of traveling through the woods.

-[]-[]-[]-

They were far thicker than they had looked. The entire place was lit with an eery glow. The light from the sun had to travel through thick layers of leaves and took on a greenish hue by the time it reached the forest bottom. It wasn’t very bright, and felt like they were forever in some sort of twilight, which left one rather more tired than they would have been if it had been normally lit.

Night was far worse. It was darker than any forest he had ever seen. Almost no starlight or moonlight showed in the dark trees, and it felt like the shadows loomed around them in constant threats.

There were very few animals. He thought he saw a squirrel one day, but it was just a flash of brown. It was far too quiet to be normal. The wind would whistle through the trees at odd moments and sound almost like someone was moaning.

Then, on certain nights, laughter, eerie and high, could be heard winding through the trees.

The path was nearly impossible to follow. Bilbo would have never managed it alone, and he found himself having to trust Thorin, Balin, Dwalin, and Nori. They led the way confidently, having clearly been that way multiple times.

They had to walk the ponies through most of it, because they trees had grown so thickly and close together. The animals didn’t like the forest any more than the dwarves or hobbit did. The dwarves hated the forest. They weren’t overly fond of most any plant, of course. They all had at least one plant in the garden that they enjoyed but there dislike for this forest was obvious in every step.

The music, stories, and laughter stopped. They kept Bilbo in the center of the walking group at all times. Ori was with him, and it took him days of walking to learn that it was because they were the only ones that hadn’t been through the forest before.

Apparently it was enchanted to make trespassers get lost.

The days became a dark blur of discomfort and irritation. The nights were spent huddled close together without a fire. He slept in Thorin’s arm to relieve the constant chill the woods had. He didn’t speak much, and Thorin didn’t either.

It took them a solid week of travel to make it to the other side. The trees finally thinned and the air grew fresher as they drew near it.

Thorin drew the entire company to a stop once they reached the other side. He paused at the trees end and turned his gaze upward. Balin joined him, and Bilbo slipped to his side.

“Le athae!” He called to the sky, dipping his head in gratitude. Bilbo’s eyebrows flew up in surprise and his mouth gaped open. He had been unaware that Thorin knew any sindarin.

A moment passed and then a blur of green, brown, and red dropped to the ground in front of them. The elf stood up and tossed her red hair back with a slow smile.

“You are welcome, Prince Thorin. How fares your nephew?”

“Kili is well, Lady Tauriel, thank you.” He reached into his surcoat and pulled out a letter that was sloppily sealed with wax. “He asked that I give you this.” The she-elf, Tauriel apparently, took the letter with a smile and soft light in her eyes. “I will be returning by this same way.”

“I will have a reply for him.” She dipped her head and took a step back into the forest. “Farewell, Mountain’s son. May Varda light your way, and may Manwe give you swift journey.”

“May your forge shine ever bright.”  Thorin returned, and then the elf was gone into the woods again. Balin led the way onward, and the others followed. Bilbo stayed near Thorin, burning with curiosity.

“Lady Tauriel is the one that rescued Kili from the warg attack. She was too late to save his father and guard, but took him into the forest until we could come for him. She gave him shelter, food, and protection when we could not.”

That explained why he knew sindarin. It also explained why he used it. He would have seen Tauriel, and everything about her, as a very safe place.

“She has allowed me and my dwarrows safe passage any time we travel through the forest because of him. I bring her letters whenever I pass through.”

“I’m mostly just amazed you voluntarily talked to an elf.”

“Only her. The rest of the wood elves are bothersome idiots.” Thorin kept his gaze straight ahead, and Bilbo couldn’t help but grin. He looked so disgruntled. The fresh air was wonderfully refreshing, and he already felt more alert.  The sun was warm on his skin, and he felt like a flower in the spring. He wanted to unfold into the light and soak it all up.

He’d have to teach Thorin about sunbathing. There was a lovely spot in the garden that would be perfect to lie in. Thorin would look lovely, his hair spread out, his skin golden in the light and the perfume of flowers in the air around them and on Thorin’s skin.

He would show it to him when they returned.

“So I’ll be taking point on all future negotiations with elves then?”

Thorin side eyed him, trying to hide his amusement. “It would probably be wise. Did you inherit your mother’s skills?”

“When I need them.” He smirked and leaned towards Thorin as though he was about to share a secret. “You couldn’t tell I thought you were an ass at our first meeting, could you?”

Thorin laughed, loud and quick. “No. I could only tell that you were defiant and determined. That was what caught my eye. That a creature so well known as soft and simple would stand before me with such defiance. I was intrigued.”

“Insulted hobbits are anything but soft.”

Thorin’s smile turned soft. “I know that well.” He looked back at the path in front them and gripped his pony’s reigns a little more tightly. “We are four days travel from Erebor, this leg of the journey is more unpleasant than the first. I do not care for the men of Lake Town or Dale.” He paused, seeming to consider his words. “We will be forced to stay in the Master of Lake towns house tomorrow night, and the Lord of Dale two evenings after that. The Master is a cruel, rude, lecherous man who has little care for his people. The Lord of Dale and I simply do not get along. He cares more for his people, but dislikes Erebor. Neither night will be pleasant.”

“I am guessing that an early retire isn’t an option?”

“It likely won’t be.”

Well, this wouldn’t be the only time they would have to deal with people they didn’t like because of properness. It would be a good start in lessons. He had party with people he could barely tolerate in the Shire. He would simply pull on those skills. It was probably a good idea to start practicing now.

“Then we shall make the best of it. My mother always said that every task had some element of fun that could be found in it.” He shrugged. “We’ll make it fun if we have to. At least there will be real food.”

“My hobbit would find the silver lining in the food.”

He laughed and felt lighter than he had in days. “You’ll learn eventually, dear. Food can brighten anything.” 


	21. Chapter 21

Thorin hadn’t, as it turned out, been lying about Lake town.

Trumpet blasts announced their arrival to the floating town. A ‘honor’ guard was issued to escort them to the Master for a ‘proper’ greeting. It felt like anything but. The town was poor feeling, and extremely cold. There seemed to be very few fishermen, for it to be a literal lake town, and there was a horrible smell in the air of rotting things. The soldiers, who were really more of men with spears they didn’t seem to know how to use, made certain they didn’t wander away. Thorin claimed his hand and didn’t let go.

Bilbo wasn’t certain if it was a statement to the townsmen, or a safety measure to make sure they weren’t separated. He didn’t care either way. He held on tightly and stood tall.

The Master’s house, which wanted to be a mansion but wasn’t anywhere near as impressive as Thorin’s, was at the very center of the town.

“Make ready,” Thorin murmured under his breath with a slight  tilt of his head. He tightened his grip on Bilbo’s hand and the hobbit felt his pulse spike in worry. The houses doors were thrown open dramatically and a large, unattractive man stepped outside.

Bilbo wasn’t an exceptionally judging person, but there was no other way to look at the man. His hair was scraggly and had all but fallen out. His eyes were beedy and blood shot from too much drink. He was overweight, and was swollen from it, with a nasty limp. He was missing several teeth, and had a thoroughly fake smile. He was clothed in faded velvets that had been made for a smaller man.

“Welcome, Prince Thorin!” The man belted with what might have been a belch. Bilbo had to work to keep his face from wrinkling in distaste. “It is an honor to have you in our glorious town.”

“Thank you for your hospitality.” Thorin dipped his head the slightest bit. Enough to show respect, but not enough to show any sort of submission. “I trust you have room for my dwarrows?”

“Yes. You will need twelve rooms?”

“Six will suffice.” Thorin kept his head high and met the ‘Master’s’ gaze head on. The man had to look away first.

“Very well. Gavlin!” A scrawny, greasy haired man slipped to the Master’s side. “Show our esteemed guest to their rooms. Once their packs are dispensed, bring Prince Thorin to the council room.”

They were lead through the house, which didn’t look any more impressive from the inside. Thorin was given a room about as large as Bilbo’s had been in the manor before the burglary. Thorin grabbed Bilbo’s pack before the man could lead him away. It was a fairly blatant display that made the man leer unpleasantly before he led the other dwarves away.

Bilbo shuddered once he left and Thorin was immediately there.

“Well,” Thorin said after a moment of silence. ‘My father will know I am coming with someone by days end.”

Bilbo’s stomach flopped despite his brain. He’d known it was likely for appearance. It simply… hurt that it had to be that way.

He really needed to get rid of his romantic side.

Thorin sighed heavily and gave his head a shake, the grey strands flashed like silver in the waning sunlight. “It could not be helped.” Thorin caught his hand again, and he stared down at their entwined fingers with a small, jealous frown that Bilbo didn’t understand. “The men of the Master in this town are wild. I will not have you in any danger. My name is the only protection I can truly offer.” He raised his gaze and Bilbo found his breath catching in his throat at the color and intensity of Thorin’s pale eyes. “Do not go anywhere alone, Ghivashel.”

“I, err, won’t.”

“Dwalin, Bifur, and Gloin have been instructed to protect you. Ori will be your constant companion while we are here and I am not present. If anyone is to ask, he is your servant.”

“My servant? Will that really be believable? I’m hardly the type to have a servant.”

“You are my betrothed. He does essentially work for you.” Thorin released his hand and went to the pack that was sitting on the bed. “Don’t hesitate to request things from any of my dwarrows.”

“So I serve myself?” Thorin huffed out a laugh and shook his head. He smiled over his shoulder, a soft, tender, adoring thing that made Bilbo’s stomach unflop and fill with happy, fluttery things. The dwarf pulled a lovely blue tunic out of his pack as he spoke.

“You are no longer required to work in the garden, of course. I would never deem to tell you not to work in the garden though, as I value my life.”

“Then you’re more clever than you look.” He took a moment to appreciate the mini strip tease as Thorin tugged his tunic up and off, discarding it on the bed before donning the new one. Bilbo took the old tunic and folded it up. “We’ll be busy the rest of the evening?”

“There will be a feast we will have to attend, and a long evening of… oddness. I will not be permitted to retire for a long while.”

He’d have to remedy that.

-[]-[]-[]-

There was a lot of fish. Bilbo enjoyed a good roasted fish, and hadn’t had one in rather a long time. The vegetables were terrible and the bread was over baked. Bombur shared a grimace with him at one point that nearly made him laugh. He turned the noise in to a cough, thankfully.

The Master was loud and rude, and not terribly funny. Bilbo had only met the rulers of the council, which was the closest that the Shire got to Masters, before Thorin. He'd had no idea that they could be so vile. A town couldn't prosper under such leadership.

None of the dwarves looked surprised.

Thorin was unendingly cordial with the town's men.  It showed just how well bred he was. Far more than any man in the town.

They were kept up painfully late. The Master seemed determined to wring out every ounce of information from Thorin that he could. When they finally did retire it was only to fall into an exhausted pile on the bed.

Regretfully.

They left early the next morning before most of the guards were up. Their ponies were utterly silent, seeming to know that their riders didn't really want to be noticed.

once they were outside of the town, Bilbo saw Erebor clearly for the first time. He had caught glimpses of her here and there, but he hadn’t seen her in her full beauty yet.

And she was quite beautiful. She stood tall and proud in the middle of empty land, shining in the sunlight like pearls. She glittered in the mornings light, far more lovely than the Misty Mountains, or Blue Mountains had been.

The dwarves all paused on their ponies for a long moment, taking her in with large eyes and wistful faces. Bilbo’s heart ached and he realized for the first time that every one of his fellow dwarves were homesick.

The mansion was where they lived but the mountian, lovely, lonely thing that she was, that was their _home_. They were tied to the earth as much as hobbits were. As deep a longing as hobbits had to till the earth and tend plants, dwarves had to tend a mountain and call her home.

It was the same with elves and trees. All creatures in Middle Earth had someplace they truly belonged.

It was strange, in a way, to realize he had something similar with the dwarves that was such a base part of who he was.

He let them have a long look without saying anything, feeling a faint tug in his own chest to see the Shire again. He’d been away from it for nearly two years now.

When the dwarves finally started moving again, it was at a much more hurried pace. The green countryside melted away in a constant stream of color as they galloped towards the mountain and the city that laid at its feet. Dale was seeable from quite a long way off, and far more grand than any human city Bilbo had ever seen. The path to it was well kept, and it was extremely obvious that Dale shared in the wealth from Erebor.

The ride was subdued for the rest of the day, and Bilbo felt the silence as a heavy and imposing force. One he didn’t know how to dispel. He felt a kinship with the dwarves over a longing for home, but there seemed to be a chasom opening between them, one he didn’t know how to cross. He didn’t share their past, any of their memories, or their love of rock and stone.

He was out of place.

He could explain his gloom or seem to get rid of it as they drew near the city.

There were far fewer guards that greeted them, and they truly seemed like soldiers. They were dressed in gleaming armor and held their weapons with a certainty that spoke of previous training. Thorin greeted them with genuine respect, unlike his greetings at Lake Town. Bilbo managed to appear pleasant and happy despite his feeling of insignificance. Their ponies were stabled and Thorin immediately took his hand. They were lead to a large, impressive house (though still not as impressive as Oakenshield Manor) and through a hall to a large room with several men milling about.

“Hail, Thorin Oakenshield, Crowned Prince under the Mountain!” A dark haired man called with a smile. He had a trim beard and his thick hair was pulled away from his face with a silver clasp. He was dressed in furs and leathers, of obvious dwarven make, and looked comfortable. His eyes were brown and kind, and Bilbo instantly like him more than the Master of Lake Town. He was tall and broad shoulder, obviously someone accustomed with work.

“Hail Bard, Lord of Dale.” Thorin dipped his head in respect that was still genuine and released Bilbo’s hand. “This is my betrothed, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire.”

“May your bow stay ever strung, Lord Bard,” He bowed and hoped he had gotten the greeting correct. Thorin had walked him through it the previous night. He hadn’t been introduced to the Master of Lake Town but Bard was owed more respect.

“Greetings, Master Baggins.” Bard returned with a polite bow and a friendly smile. “Prince Thorin, your father has requested that I send a raven when you arrived. I will meet with you and your advisors in an hours time, if that is suitable to your schedule.”

“Thank you, Lord Bard. That will suffice.”

“Then I will have Bain show you to your rooms for the evening. Will six suffice?”

“Yes, thank you.” Thorin dipped his head again, a slight sign of weariness showing because Bilbo knew where to look for it. A young man that looked similar to Bard approached them with a broad grin and eager eyes. He led the way down another grand hall, up a flight of stairs, and down a corridor where they were given rooms. Bain didn’t leer when Bilbo stayed with Thorin. He looked genuinely happy.

Bilbo liked Dale far more than the fishing town.

“Will you attend me during the meeting or will you explore the town with Ori and Bofur?” Thorin asked casually as he pulled his nicer tunic from his pack again. He slowly took off his surcoat and sword, laying them on the soft bed.

“You would want me to attend the meeting?” Thorin’s movements were stiffer than they usually were. Bilbo couldn’t determine why. The riding hadn’t been as tiresome as usual, and they had slept well on the beds. Thorin had woken well rested and they had stopped for a longer lunch than usual.

“Your counsel is always welcome.” The words were said carefully, and that alarmed Bilbo more than the stiff movements. Something was happening that Thorin wasn’t telling him.

He’d go to the meeting. He wanted to watch Thorin and try to figure out what the problem was. “Then I’ll attend the meeting, âzyungâl.” Thorin’s hand clenched around his discarded belt for a moment before they jerked to the hem of his tunic. Bilbo’s frown deepened.

“The meeting will not last long. Bard will simply update us on the latest trade and then we will convene to a feast. He will not keep us as late as-”

“That’ll be nice.” Bilbo interrupted with a smile as he stepped across the room. He brushed Thorin’s hands away from his tunic and lifted the red material himself. He allowed his hands to skim against Thorin’s warm skin as he did so. The dwarf’s breath hitched slightly, and that made a deep satisfaction unfurl in Bilbo’s stomach. He put the tunic aside and grabbed the new one. He slipped it over Thorin’s head and arms slowly, lingering more than necessary. Thorin was pleasantly warm under his hand, and he hadn’t had much chance to explore. Not nearly as much as he wanted to. They didn’t have time to really do anything, but he could touch for at least a moment.

Thorin was staring at him with an indecipherable look, but Bilbo kept his eyes on the chest in front of him, and then the blue tunic he slipped over the barrel chest. He tied it with steady fingers and then took the belt back up off the bed. He pulled it snug, not tight enough to hurt but tight enough not to slide, and then fastened his sword and scabbard to it. He put Thorin’s necklaces on, and then slid his surcoat on. He slipped the buttons into their holes slowly, and then let his hand rest against Thorin’s chest for a moment before finally meeting the dwarf’s gaze.

The blue eyes were dark and glittering, the streaks of grey in them looking more like silver. There were dozens of different shades in them.

"Bilbo?”

“Yes?”

Thorin didn’t make an audible response. He leaned in and kissed Bilbo and everything else in the world seemed to melt away.

Thorin’s mouth was warm and wet and utterly intoxicating, as always, and after a moment when he pulled away, Bilbo couldn't help but follow, half-falling over as he moved forward a little too quickly. He felt Thorin smile against his mouth, and felt his arms come around Bilbo to help hold him up.

He braced his arms around Thorin’s neck, holding him close. Thorin curled the fingers of one hand into the front of Bilbo’s tunic to tug him closer, and the other one tugged on Bilbo’s hips. Thorin groaned and Bilbo tried to capture the sound with his mouth, kissing him more urgently and feeling an intense need in his chest.

When Thorin pulled away, stopping Bilbo with a hand, he looked less closed off. His shoulders weren’t bunched quite so tightly and his hair was mussed from Bilbo’s fingers. He still wasn’t certain what the problem had been, but he didn’t feel like it would be unsolvable.

He’d simply tend to it after the meeting.

-[]-[]-[]-

The meeting was nothing more than updates on the trade as Thorin had thought it would be. Bilbo listened intentively just the same. It was his first ‘meeting’ and he wanted to make certain he knew how they went before he reached Erebor. He watched Balin closely, and tried to mimic him.

He didn’t offer any advice, but found himself learning quite a bit.

The feast was far more comfortable than the one at Lake Town had been. The food was of a higher quality, and the other dwarves were more relaxed. Thorin was tense throughout the evening, and Bilbo wasn’t certain if it was what had been bothering Thorin earlier, or if it was that, as he had said, he simply didn’t get along with Bard.

Bard was easy to talk to, and talked to Bilbo through the feast. He asked questions about his home, and what the lands between them were like. Bain also asked question after question, smiling more with every story that Bilbo told them.

He maneuvered around the topic of why they were traveling, and anything doing with Thrain, or Thorin’s home life well enough to earn an approving nod from Balin, and an amused smile from Ori.

They retired at a far more reasonable hour and Bilbo felt light and warm as they wandered up the stairs and down the hall to their room. He was walking beside Thorin, Dwalin and Ori were leading the way, and they were close enough that his arm brushed against Thorin’s with every step. The dwarf didn’t say anything as they walked, but he allowed his fingers to brush over Bilbo’s in a subtle show of affection.

Bilbo clicked their door shut and slid the lock into place while Thorin wandered further into the room. He pulled his large amulet off his neck and deposited it on the dresser with an arm cuff while he turned to face Thorin.

The dwarf was staring at him, impossibly still everywhere but seeming so restless. His eyes were fixed on Bilbo, and only Bilbo. He untied the belt around his waist that held the dwarven style coat shut, and Thorin continued to watch with an intense focus that Bilbo never saw him give anything else, but he could imagine was reserved for battles, for fights for his life. A concentration unlike anything else. It was an intoxicating gaze that made him feel like he was capable of almost anything. It usually left him deliriously happy and giddy in a strange way.

But there was something wrong with the gaze. Something he couldn’t quite decipher.

“We reach Erebor tomorrow.” Thorin murmured, his voice quiet in the silent air but full of the power that Bilbo couldn’t quite describe.

“We do.” He responded quietly. The air was heavy between them, and it was not something Bilbo knew how to dispel.

Something was happening, he just didn’t know what. 


	22. Chapter 22

**Smut warning for this chapter.**

Perhaps it was Erebor herself that loomed before them. A trial unlike anything else they had faced.

He crossed the room so he was standing in front of the dwarf and felt a strange chill on his skin. Thorin looked different, separate from the world Bilbo existed in. Too noble for the likes of a simple hobbit. He was a prince, from one of the oldest royal lines, and would be a King someday. He had fought in battles and lead a thousand dwarves. He was older, wiser, and ever so much stronger than Bilbo.

It struck him out of the blue sometimes just how powerful and high-born his dwarf was.

Bilbo wasn’t anything like that. He’d been a well-to-do hobbit of course, before the illnesses and debts. It wasn’t anything like this. There were no courts, or royalty, or nobility.

He felt reverent somehow, unworthy to be near Thorin, let alone to be allowed to see him in such intimate settings. He took the dwarf’s calloused hand in his own, thankful that the leather gloves were gone so he could feel the warm skin against his own. “You know I would do anything for you?” He murmured, uncertain why but needing Thorin to know how devoted he was. He brought the hand to his mouth and pressed his lips against the knuckles in a gentle kiss of loyalty and reverence. “My prince.”

“Bilbo,” Thorin’s voice was nearly broken. He turned the hand over and pressed his lips to the palm, remembering when Thorin had done the same to him.  He raised his gaze as he pressed the slow kiss to the warm skin, and found Thorin still staring. His gaze was almost helpless, and Bilbo recognized grief, frustration, and longing in the blue eyes.

It surprised him.

“Please,” Thorin’s hand twitched against his lips, and then it was moving to cup his cheek and lift him up. “Please,” again, a simple plea he was helpless to resist.

“Anything.” He repeated.

He held Thorin’s gaze for a moment and then the dwarf was kissing him hard and possessive, his grip tight on Bilbo’s waist. He was pulled close until he was pressed flat to Thorin’s chest. It was something he usually cherished, being held close, but he’d be lying if he didn’t say it was at least a little uncomfortable with all the jewels and trinkets that Thorin was wearing. His armor wasn’t too pleasant either.

He pushed at Thorin until there was a little space between them. Enough that he could get a breath and a hand between them. He set to freeing Thorin of his belt, his eyes locked on the complicated clasp that Thorin wore.

“Ghivashuh, izdu. Maizd anazatagrif zu. Gajum ma serêj. (My treasure, you are mine. No one will take you. Please don’t leave.)”

Thorin’s forehead dropped against his, holding him still and breathless. He didn’t know what Thorin had said, but he knew that tone. It was pleading and seemed to settle beneath Bilbo’s very skin.

“Shh,” he calmed, wrapping his arms around Thorin’s middle. “What is it?”

Before he was given any kind of a response, or given time to brace, he was lifted into the air, turned, and walked to the bed. Thorin deposited him on it a fraction of a second later, swiping the packs and clothes off the bed with a crash.

Okay then.

Thorin was on him again a moment later, his lips demanding and his hands picking Bilbo’s clothes apart with the skill of someone who had spent their live working with their hands. He was disrobed shockingly quick, and Thorin turned his attentions to his own clothing.

He never took his mouth off of Bilbo’s. He kept kissing, deep, devouring kisses that were making it hard for Bilbo to think. The dwarf’s bare body was pressed against his a moment later and it was very nearly too much sensation. He tore his mouth free and tossed his head back, his beads clanking against each other as his back arched and he gasped in a lungful of air. Thorin pressed his solid body more firmly over Bilbo, the weight of him pushing Bilbo into the bed inescapably.

Not that Bilbo would try to escape the delicious, if confusing, onslaught.

His hand slipped down Bilbo’s side, just on the edge of ticklish, and palmed at his arse, making Bilbo’s breath hitch and his body twitch into the touch. Then the hand was sliding down the back of Bilbo’s very naked leg, up his inner thigh, over the top of his leg, behind his knee. The hand urged his leg up as Thorin’s mouth trailed down his throat to settle on his adam’s apple. The hand slipped back up his inner thigh to the spot where his thigh met his hip, and then back to the knee to urge his legs further apart.

He widened them happily, allowing for Thorin to more comfortably settle against him. It made his cock, which had become very interested very quickly, rub against Thorin's abdomen. He rolled his hips upward unashamedly seeking more of the delicious pressure and friction while Thorin practically devoured his throat. Wanton noises fell freely from his mouth and his heart raced in his chest as pleasure sparked along his skin to settle low in his chest between his stomach and spine.

Then, when his fingers started to tingle with it and his fingers raced over Thorin’s back, the dwarf wrapped his arms around Bilbo's middle and flipped them with very little effort. Bilbo found himself on top quite suddenly, with Thorin spread out like a feast beneath him. He was straddling the dwarf’s broad chest, and Thorin’s cock was nestled against his bum.

He took a moment, only a moment, to be utterly surprised and then his hands were pressing against all the skin that was presented to him. He ran his fingers lightly over the furred chest, taking more notice of the many scars littered there. The muscle was solid under hand, and the skin warmer than his own. He tugged at the thick hair, and tweaked Thorin’s nipples as his prince yearned into the touch with a demanding motion.

Because Thorin would not ask if he could demand. Apparently that extended to bed sport as well.

The dwarf’s eyes were closed and his head was pressed back into the pillows which made the column of his throat look longer and tempting. Bilbo lowered himself onto Thorin, noting how different it felt to feel nothing but Thorin’s hand at his back. He caught Thorin in a kiss, and his prince’s mouth was lush and yearning, tipping into him as Thorin’s hands came to tug at his waist. He was pressed closer as Thorin brought his legs up and dug his heels into the mattress. Bilbo allowed himself to be held close and pressed another kiss to Thorin’s upper lip before tilting so their foreheads pressed together.

“You know,” he said conversationally, trying to not let his smile completely flood his voice, “this is exactly what I had in mind when I told them we were retiring.”

He didn’t give Thorin time to respond but dipped lower still until he was completely pressed to Thorin and reclaimed the dwarf’s lips with quick, darting kisses. One of Thorin’s hands spread wide over his arse, and the other was on his back, pressing him closer even though it wasn’t possible to be closer. The dwarf gasped his name softly, and so quickly that he very nearly didn’t catch it. He wrapped his own hand around Thorin’s shoulder and the other he dug into the soft hair beside their betrothal braid. He sank deeper into the kiss, with Thorin pulling him impossibly closer, and let his mind simply forget anything else. Anything that wasn’t the invitation of Thorin’s lips, his offered body, his offered soul, anything that wasn’t Thorin and him.

He ground backwards absently, and Thorin pressed up into him, his cock sliding against his arse, brushing over his entrance. He could feel a ghost of sensation, the memory of Thorin taking him making his breath hitch.

They would be doing that. Soon. Now would work quite well for Bilbo.

And then both of Thorin’s hands were around his waist and he was being lifted up in the air. There was a brief moment of confusing limbs, and then he was settled between Thorin’s spread legs.

“Take me.” Thorin ordered, a wild, frighteningly unfamiliar, gleam in his eyes.

For a long moment, Bilbo’s brain simply stopped working. No thoughts were processed and he didn’t move. The words simply floated around in his mind wild and odd.

The gleam from earlier, the strange thing mixed with fear and longing and desperation, was back in Thorin’s eyes. His body was far too tense, and his grip was too tight.

Something was still very much not right.

“What?” Thorin stared at him unblinking. His shoulders bunched and his heels determinedly dug into the mattress.

"It was simple enough. Take me."

Bilbo, fighting a frown, carefully pushed himself up and away from Thorin's warmth. He inhaled sharply, filling his lungs with much needed air, and helping clear his head. He blinked twice and studied Thorin. Aside from the obvious tension, there was also a hint of fear In the way he was holding himself. His interest had also flagged a little.

He met Thorin's eyes again, noticing a faint flush on the dwarfs cheeks. He swallowed carefully and shook his head.  There was a conversation that needed to happen before he did what Thorin asked. One he wasn't sure how to start.

Thorin's eyes, always so intriguing, were darkening, and not with arousal. So Bilbo did the only thing he could think of. He dropped down and kissed Thorin as demandingly and possessively as he could. Thorin's hands tightened on his waist in response, and Bilbo reached forward, under the pillow by Thorin's head until his hand closed around a small bottle he’d optimistically hidden away while they’d unpacked for the meeting.  

It was easier to talk after they were intimate. Whether it was a kiss, a caress, or this, Bilbo always found it easier to talk. Thorin was also freer when they were intimate. He rarely shared when he wasn’t touching Bilbo. The contact seemed to ground him and open him. Even if he wanted to share, he didn’t untie his tongue until he was touching.

It’d be an utter lie if he said he didn’t want it as well. Thorin was a constant temptation, and having two weeks of teasing touches and soft caresses without actually being able to do anything was maddening.

It was a little difficult to get the bottle open and dip his fingers into it while he continued to kiss Thorin, but he wanted to keep as much contact as possible. He managed to slick his fingers and then it was simply the business of readying himself as Thorin had done. He made good use of his other hand, exploring what he could reach of Thorin while he devoured his mouth with deep kisses.

They’d had months of kisses. Kissing was something Bilbo had gotten quite good at.

He used his knowledge to distract Thorin, and bring back to the fervent desire he’d had when he had pushed Bilbo onto the bed. Thorin’s hand was firm on his hip, and the other was buried in his hair to make certain that he didn’t wander away.

Thorin had been more certain of what he was doing - Bilbo still hadn’t asked why- but he did find that the dwarf also made it more pleasurable. Still, he figured he was doing it properly enough, and that he was as ready as he was willing to wait. His fingers weren’t nearly as large as Thorin’s, but they were sufficient. He broke the kiss, gave Thorin’s jaw a sharp nip, and sat back. The dwarf stared up at him with heavily hooded eyes that were widening and so dark.

He wrapped his oil slick hand around Thorin’s length and gave him a few tugs that had Thorin’s head pressing back into the pillow before he climbed onto the dwarf’s stomach. He felt horribly gangly for a moment while he situated himself, and then Thorin figured out what he was doing. He put his hand on the dwarf’s firm chest and guided Thorin’s length to his arse. He widened his legs, and then lowered himself down.

For a moment, Bilbo was back in Oakenshield manor. He could feel the fur against his back and smell the linseed in Thorin’s hair as the dwarf had pushed into him for the first time. The sweat on their skin sliding against each other, Thorin’s weight grounding and perfect. The touch of Thorin’s lips to his neck, the grip of his fingers against Bilbo’s hip...

Then the memory gave away as he settled on top of Thorin, the dwarf fully sheathed once again inside his body.

He took a moment to breath, willing his body to loosen while he considered all he could do from this angle. Thorin’s head was pressed back into the pillow, which made his jaw jut into the air and his eyes were clenched. His hands had fisted the fur tightly, and he already looked tightly wound. When his eyes opened, it was sudden, and startling.

“Ghivashe-”

“Shh. I’m thinking what I want to do with you.” Bilbo placed a finger from his clean hand over Thorin’s lips, smiling to let him know that he wasn’t berating him in the least. Thorin kissed the digit and pushed his legs up so that Bilbo tipped forward. Bilbo, on instinct, shot his hands behind himself to grab hold of Thorin’s legs so he didn’t fall over, and found it would be easier to move that way.

Such a clever dwarf he had.

He pushed up tentatively, savoring the strange stretch and burn and the addicting feeling of being full, of being right. He couldn’t quite hold back a moan as he lowered himself again. He adjusted his stance a slight bit, and Thorin’s hands shot out to grab onto his ankles, grounding him. He exhaled sharply and met Bilbo’s eyes with large, vividly blue ones.

How odd it was that Thorin touching his feet felt scandalous, and not what they were doing.

He pushed himself up slowly, and slammed back down, then stayed with that rhythm as it made Thorin grunt in a delicious way. He felt a little silly, practically bouncing on Thorin’s lap, but he also felt strangely powerful. Thorin was staring at him as though he couldn’t quite believe what he saw. His blue eyes were large, awe filled, hungry, and adoring all at the same moment.

Thorin adjusted his stance, widening his legs and causing Bilbo’s rhythm to falter. A moment later Thorin rolled his hips up as Bilbo came down, which made him seem to go even deeper, and caused him to hit the spot inside Bilbo that made pleasure burst up his spine, and tingle through his fingers. He bit his lip to keep from shouting (they were at someone elses house after all) and tossed his head back. They moved like that for a while, rising and falling and crashing against each other until nothing else seemed to exist

Thorin surged up onto his elbows suddenly, causing his hair to fall around his shoulders in alluring waves that always made Bilbo’s fingers itch to feel.

“Bilbo, ghivashuh, tanak anazu.” (My treasure, come to me.)

The words meant very little to Bilbo as far as instruction went, but the sound of them had his chest tightening. Thorin suddenly seemed so very far away.  He bent forward, no longer content with his position. He needed to be closer, needed to kiss Thorin, but he could only bend so far forward. He was so close, he could feel the tensing of his muscles, and the glow of arousal was almost bright enough to explode, if he could only just-

Thorin growled in a way Bilbo had never heard before, and the next thing he knew, air was rushing around him and then there was soft fur at his back and Thorin was pressing him down onto the mattress as he plunged back into Bilbo’s body with a hard thrust. Thorin claimed his lips in a wild kiss that he didn’t even try to control, and set a punishing pace. Thorin spoke in garbled khuzdul between kisses and nips, and then his broad hand closed around Bilbo’s aching arousal and he stroked him in time to his thrust.

It was everything and too much and Bilbo couldn’t do anything but feel and cry out into Thorin’s mouth as his orgasm positively exploded through him. Thorin pressed his hips forward, going as deep as he could and holding as Bilbo writhed on the bed.

When the stars finally disappeared, and Bilbo came back to himself, it was to Thorin thrusting far more gently with his forehead pressed against Bilbo’s. They were too close for him to see Thorin’s face clearly at all, he could just see a blur of loved features.

He tilted his head a little, just enough to reach Thorin’s mouth, and he bit on the bottom lip. Thorin shuddered against him, and thrust hard, twice more, then he groaned out Bilbo’s name on a long note that made Bilbo flush with pleasure as he came.

He stroked Thorin’s hair as he settled down, nearly aching with the love that was pounding in his chest. He was so dazed, that it took him several moments to realize there was a fine tremble in Thorin.

Bilbo had been right, something had been very wrong. 


	23. Chapter 23

“Why?” The words were quiet enough that Bilbo almost didn’t catch them. They were spoken into his shoulder where Thorin had buried his head.

He didn’t have to ask what the dwarf meant.

“Because I didn’t want it to be like that. Something was wrong. Whenever it does happen, it won’t be a spur of the moment thing. It’ll be something we both want so we are closer. Somewhere safe. Where there won’t be any worries about someone coming in or being too loud. Because it will be my goal to make certain you scream for me.” He dropped a kiss to Thorin’s head, wishing he could look at his face as he spoke. “Will you tell me why?”

“Because Erebor stands before us.”

Bilbo was quite certain he could feel his heart cracking. It certainly hurt with each beat. He’d thought he was the only scared one. How selfish and ridiculous a thought.

Thorin was going to see his father for something that should have been a joyous celebration. Instead he was likely to be treated cruelly, and very likely to learn that his father had sent someone to spy on him, at the least. He was possibly scared that Bilbo would be taken from him, or harmed.

It certainly wasn’t as if Thrain would be able to say something to make Bilbo leave. He’d fight severely to stay with Thorin. The king under the mountain would regret the day he dared to underestimate a hobbit’s loyalty.

Did he think that Thrain would succeed? Bilbo certainly hadn’t given him any reason to think such things. Goodness, he’d freaked out when he’d discovered Thorin was royalty because he’d assumed he’d have to leave…

Though his dear dwarf might not have seen it that way.

On hindsight, it might have looked as if he wanted nothing to do with Thorin’s royal self. Like he was happy enough with noble Thorin, but royal Thorin had to be left behind. Sweet Yavanna’s bushes, how long had Thorin been hiding that?

“Kurduh,” he murmured under his breath, savoring the word for the first time. Thorin’s stilled against his chest and beneath his hands, “my kurdumizim… He can say anything he wishes, offer anything he has, I won’t be separated. I don’t care if he is a rude, unsociable, brute. As long as you’ll have me I will stay at your side. Since the moment you told me about your mother’s garden, I’ve been yours.”

“Gondor.” A single word, so powerful. It affirmed everything he’d just started to fear.

“Was in fear that I would be driven away. I was terrified. Everyone knew how I felt - Ori was forever smiling knowingly, and Balin practically consoled me when Nori suddenly appeared. I was certain they were just having a laugh behind my back. I had fallen for a prince of all things! You’ll remember I was difficult to convince that my lack of status wouldn’t be a problem.”

“They told me nothing of what you said.” Thorin grumbled, and Bilbo let his head fall back against the plush pillow and a smile lift his lips.

“They didn’t tell me anything either, if that helps.”

“Not really.” A kiss was brushed against his skin, Thorin’s beard tickling him. “I have had many roles forced upon me in my lifetime.” Thorin stated as he brushed his nose against Bilbo’s throat. “This would be the only role I have ever chosen. I fear that it may be denied to me.” His arms tightened around Bilbo in a nearly painful embrace. Not that he noticed. “I have lived in exile, and only feared for my dwarrows and nephews. Now I find that I have another to worry about. One that could be taken from me.”

“Not willingly.”

“My father is exceedingly powerful.”

“And you are extremely careful. Bifur, Glóin, and Dori will make certain I’m safe. Not to mention you. I have a feeling I’ll have at least two with me any time I’m not at your side.”

“If you are not permitted to ma-”

“Then we have the Shire. We don’t have a list of requirements for marriage. You just have to have someone willing to marry you. I have a cousin who can officiate. Even Óin would be qualified to do the deed by Shire laws. So long as you are willing to marry me, I’ll marry you.”

He held Thorin for a long, quiet moment. “Has...err, has he done that sort of thing before?”

“He has made allies disappear. I have guarded everyone here carefully. Only a few know the depths of our loyalty to each other. I have a few very well placed dwarrows in council as well. They keep an eye on my father and his friends. Anywho would see me harmed.” He sighed heavily, his breath blowing over Bilbo’s skin in a moist, hot, puff. “You are the greatest weakness I have ever allowed myself.”

How odd that he should feel guilty for that. Did Thorin feel guilty for loving him?

More than ever before, laying in bed with Thorin on top of him, warm and so very breakable, Bilbo realized he hated Thrain. His dwarf should never be scared to lose him. He should never worry that Thrain could make him leave. That his father would want to hurt his son in such a way…

They should never have to be a weakness for each other.

More than that though, he, _Bilbo_ , was causing Thorin to risk what he had. His dwarrows, his peace, _his_ _heart_. He’d been trying to help, and now it seemed as though Thorin would reveal everything in one foul swoop.

“Allow me another moment and I shall see us cleaned.” Thorin pressed a kiss to his shoulder. It stung a bit, apparently Thorin had bitten him again.

Ten or so minutes later found them reclining on the bed, partially under the covers, and cleaned. Thorin was on his side, propped up by his arm and staring down at Bilbo. The dwarf was tracing his features with his knuckles again, and he found himself nearly breathless from it. His heart hurt from their conversation, worry, grief, and love all mixing together to make each beat nearly painful. Thorin’s problem wasn’t one he could solve with a simple talk. It would take time, and effort. He’d have to prove that Bilbo was something Thorin could always be sure of.

“I fear I have not properly prepared you for what awaits us.”

“I assumed that was because you weren’t certain. I don’t imagine you’ve brought another betrothed to Erebor.” He raised an eyebrow to let Thorin know that if that wasn’t the case, now would be an excellent time to say so. There was a small, niggling doubt in the back of his mind about Thorin’s experience in such matters. One he didn’t like to concentrate on, but wouldn’t leave. Especially after that conversation. He couldn’t decide if Thorin’s fear was one that knew what could happen, or one that was simply imagining the worst.

“Only you.” Thorin assured, his eyes going soft, and warm as a forge. “I meant that I have not spoken on what the court is like.”

Bilbo relaxed a little, still wary. He’d have to ask at some point, but ignorance was nice for the moment.  “Why?”

“I myself haven’t thought much of it. It is far from pleasant, though I love the mountain, and my dwarrows, I dislike the atmosphere and fear for your safety.” He gave his head a shake causing his beads to clink against each other, and his braid of status to fall over his shoulder. Rather symbolically. “Home should never be so complicated.”

“That isn’t home.” Bilbo stated with a small nod. “Home is what you share with your dwarves, err, dwarrows. Home is far more the people than the place. That’s why empty homes never feel right. They’re missing the most vital element. Their people.” He was getting sappy, and didn’t want Thorin to think him too sentimental. “So what should I expect?” He turned on his side to face Thorin more. The dwarf’s hand, which had never stopped its stroking, moved to traced the skin beside his ear, then down his jaw, to stroke at his throat.

“A lot of staring first.”

“I actually anticipated that. It felt like everyone stared at me constantly my first week at.”

“I owe you an apology for that. We are not the most trusting of creatures.”

“Already forgiven.” Bilbo tugged on Thorin’s braid, feeling the different strands and the silky softness of Thorin’s hair. “It was something I should have expected. I’d never met an open dwarf.”

“Have you met many other dwarrows then?”

He nodded and hummed an affirmative, still toying with Thorin’s hair. “I wouldn’t say ‘many, but a fare few. Traders came through the Shire twice a year since I can remember. There were several different ones, but I always found myself talking to the same five. Two females and three males. I grew up with one of them.” Thorin’s hand slid over his arm to settle on his hip. “He was dark haired like you, though he was far frizzier. Poor dwarf always had to weave his beard in one big braid or it was too thick to do anything with. When we were very young he would play with me and my cousins. That stopped as we grew older, but we still talked. It wasn’t until after mother and father that I realized. He knew a lot about me but I knew very little about him.” he laughed and gave his head a little shake.  It was funny how much less that hurt now. “You lot and your secrets.” He didn’t particularly care if that dwarf knew about him. He knew about Thorin, and twelve other dwarves, and that was quite enough.

“What was his name?”

“Froir.” Bilbo replied easily, finally letting Thorin’s hair go. He hadn’t thought about them in a very long time. He’d always been fascinated by other races, even as a lad. The memories made him smile as he lifted his gaze, only for it to freeze. Thorin’s gaze was very dark, and he suddenly realized how heavy the dwarf’s hand was on his side. “Ermm, Froir Frarurson. They traveled with me to Bree. That was the last I saw of them.”

“Indeed?”

Bilbo nodded his head feeling a little off kilter. Was there another unspoken tradition going on? Bother dwarves and their unending secret culture! If he couldn’t carry a simple conversation on with Thorin without upsetting him, how in Yavanna’s name was he supposed to make it with the King?

He’d cause a war with his current luck. Thorin had reason to be afraid.

Thorin’s hand flexed on his hip and tightened slightly. “I’m sorry, but something just happened, and I’ve no idea what it was.”

Thorin swallowed and looked at the wall over Bilbo’s head. “Aside from staring, you will also have several dwarrows questioning you. Do not feel obligated to answer anything.”

They were just going to ignore the dark look and apparent insult? “What kind of questions?” He was torn, worried about what he needed to know, and burning with curiosity _and_ worry over what had just happened.

“Questions on stateship and history. You will likely be interrogated about Oakenshield Manor as well. Do not answer any question on it.” Well that was alarming. “You will also be expected to stay on my left side. We will walk ahead of everyone else, the same as we ride. You are not to go anywhere without at least one member of my Company.”

“Is there anything I shouldn’t ask?” Thorin continued to stare at the wall as he answered, the dark look still visible in the tight clench of his jaw and the tension in his broad shoulders. It was items that Bilbo wouldn’t have asked about anyway, so he let his mind wander over the conversation and tried to make sense of it.

Then he realized where he had seen that expression before, and he laughed before he could catch himself. Thorin stopped talking abruptly and frowned in offense. Bilbo immediately grabbed his arm, biting the laugh off and pulled himself closer to Thorin before the dwarf could retreat. “You ridiculous lump.” He gave his head a shake, feeling strangely bubbly and cherished.

“They are genuine concerns. I would not have you uncomfortable or at risk for causing off-”

“No. Froir, silly.” Thorin’s disposition instantly switched from confused to sullen. Bilbo curled closer, hooking his leg over Thorin’s to make certain he couldn’t escape. “He was a friend, and not a very good one at that. I only saw him for a few weeks out of the year. He was intriguing, nothing more.” He shook his head and pressed close to Thorin. “You are the first to hold my heart, dwarf or other.” He darted a quick kiss to Thorin’s shoulder, the curve of it too tempting to resist. “Or did Ori never tell you about what he learned?”

“No.” Was Thorin’s annoyed reply. He curled his arm around Bilbo’s waist, settling his long, broad fingers on the curve of Bilbo’s bum, which was perfectly fine with him. “As I said earlier. I fear my dwarrows cared more for your honor than my feelings. They were all of them annoyingly tight-lipped.” Bilbo couldn’t have repressed his smile if he wanted to.

“I told him I had only ever had a few, mild dalliances. They never went further than a few kisses.”

This would be an excellent time to ask. He could hardly find a better moment if he planned it. He opened his mouth, intending on asking four simple words ‘ _Have you had many?_ ’ but he couldn’t get them out. They got stuck in his throat, along with his courage, and he couldn’t make them budge for anything.

“Good. I will not share you.” Thorin tipped him over with a push of his hand and a devilish roll of his body. He then draped his own leg over Bilbo and leaned partially over him. “Or have you not heard of the greediness of dwarrows?”

Bilbo was still trying to catch his breath from being moved and pleasurably pressed down by Thorin’s solid, warm, weight. “We treasure anything of worth, and will cherish it to our dying breath. We are possessive owners that do not let go of our jewels.” He claimed a long kiss from Bilbo that had his toes curling and his fingers frantically reaching for something of Thorin to hold onto. “I have found a treasure that I will cherish and protect unto my dying day.”  

He broke away with a brush of his nose against Bilbo’s cheek. “Rest now, ghivasheluh. I should like to have you at least once more before dawn.”

When Thorin spoke with that voice, all deep and rumbly, there was no way Bilbo could ever refuse.

-[]-[]-[]-

There was no word that fit Erebor so well as ‘big.’ Tall was close, but it did nothing to describe the wideness of every object as well.

It was made almost exclusively of stone, and was polished so that everything shown.

There were dwarves everywhere. He had never seen so many. They all seemed to know who Thorin was, and got thrilled the moment that they saw him. Eyes followed them everywhere, some happy, some extremely judging, some simply curious. Guards surrounded them once they entered the town and khuzdul started flying everywhere. Bilbo followed Thorin’s lead, staying on his left and a few paces behind.

He was careful to stand tall and meet eyes, but showed no recognition of any khuzdul, even the few words he knew. He knew khuzdul was a taboo subject.

Nori disappeared the moment they neared the city. He vanished into the rock, leaving his pony ladened with packs and no dwarf. There was no sign of him anywhere, but no one looked surprised by his sudden disappearance.

They were lead through hall after hall, each more elaborate and impressive than the previous. he was aware of all his friends at his side and how tense they were. It was at odds with how excited everyone was to see them.

They were lead deeper into the city, and higher the deeper they went. It was terrifying if he veered too close to the edge. He could imagine how anyone managed to run through here. It would make him hyperventilate if he weren’t already.

“Courage, Mizim. My father is in the next room.” Thorin murmured the words under his breath as they came upon large double doors. “I will be asked in first,  with Dwalin and Balin. You will stay with the others until I send for you. Stay between Dori and Glóin. They know who to watch for.”

That was all Thorin had time to say before the doors were open and he was ushered inside with at least a dozen guards. The doors immediately shut again, before Bilbo could get anything like a proper look. Dori and Glóin moved to his side and stepped close, their arms brushing against him. Ori and Bofur closed in behind and the rest surrounded them as well.

He took a moment to even his breathing and to try and calm his heart. His pulse was racing, his fingers were tingling and his knees were shaky. It was a wonder he was still standing. He was fine when moving, but terrible any time they stopped.

Which was pointless. He wasn’t actually supposed to get Thrain’s approval. Thorin would probably be disappointed if he did get it. He was simply acting a part so that Nori could infiltrate and learn if Thrain had ordered the attack.

He wasn’t certain what they would do if Thrain had ordered the attack.

“Stand next to Thorin and don’t look Thrain straight in the eyes. Thank the guard.” Dori murmured under his breath, fidgeting with his sleeves cuff in a way that made him look like Ori. “Stand tall, and try not to fidget.”

That was precisely the sort of information that Bilbo had wanted. Practical things he could do. Thorin was rubbish at giving such things. Probably because he didn’t need to think about them. He simply acted that way from over a century of training. He acted unconsciously.

It seemed to take forever, but no time at all, before the doors opened again. The guards ushered them forward and BIlbo sucked in one more breath before he was being lead forward.

The hall was grander than any other he had seen, and long. There was a huge throne set at its end, and a dwarf was seated on it covered in gold, jewels, and fur. He had grey hair that was heavily braided, an eye patch over his right eye, and a scar over his cheek. Thorin, Balin, and Dwalin stood fifteen or so feet from the throne, their backs to Bilbo. He strode forward tall and purposeful until he was at Thorin’s side. He bowed sharply at the waist while the guards announced him.

“We present Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, Prince Thorin Oakenshield’s betrothed, and future consort.”

It echoed around in Bilbo’s head, odd and loud. He felt like Thorin’s betrothed, but it was still strange to think of himself as a royal consort. They seemed two separate things.

He remained bowed for a long moment and then straightened. He stared at the etchings beside Thorin’s head, not quite making eye contact. Thorin was extremely stiff at his side and that pierced his heart.

No one should be that uncomfortable around their own parent.

“A hobbit?” Thrain’s voice was gravelly, lower than Thorin’s and gruffer. It had a hint of his dwarf in it, but was lacking all the things he loved best in Thorin’s tone. He was daunting to look at, as dangerous as Thorin, but with a madder feeling.

It might have just been what Bilbo knew about him though.

Either way, he didn’t know if he should respond. Thankfully, Balin saved him. “Yes, sire. Bilbo is a Hobbit of Hobbiton, one of the Ten Thains of the Shire.”

How had Balin known that? He was eligible for three of the Thainships. The Baggins, Took, and Brandybuck one. He’d had to give his position as the Baggins to his cousin Drogo. If he ever returned to the Shire he’d be able to take it back. The Thains were the council of the Shire. The closest thing they had to ruleship.

“Indeed?”

“It is as Sir Balin said, your Majesty.” Bilbo dipped his head respectively like Thorin always was and held it for a moment longer than the dwarf would. He was lower on the totem pole

Thrain harrumphed. Bilbo was fairly certain that wasn’t a good sign.

He felt unnatural, and hated it. He wasn’t acting like a hobbit, he was acting like a dwarf.

He straightened up and smiled, relaxing his body and stepping closer to Thorin. He allowed his arm to brush against the dwarf prince and bounced on his heels. Hobbits were creatures of joy and simple comfort. They were polite, of course, but they didn’t make themselves less to make someone else happy. That was hardly sensible, after all. He’d be himself. He was going to be disliked either way. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about getting out of character.

“It is a great honor to meet the King Under the Mountain and father of the one who has my heart.” He turned his head towards Thorin, his courtship braid falling against his cheek. “Your son has brought joy to my heart and light to my life.” It was part of the pledge used in a proper hobbit courtship but he highly doubted anyone would know that here.

“Bilbo has accepted my betrothal and we will wed in spring of next year.”

“Then celebration is in order.”

That had been rather the point of the whole thing.  “Beleg!” Thrain called with a wave of his heavily ringed hand. A dwarf dressed in blue and silver rushed forward with a harried expression. “Show my son and his intended to their chambers. Escort his dwarrows to their chambers as well. Gorin, tell the kitchen to prepare a feast. For my son has come with grand news.”

So it began.


	24. Chapter 24

Thorin’s room was huge. Ludicrously so. Bilbo could have fit several of his rooms in the room, and it had three separate chambers. The outer one had a desk and bookshelves and chair, and a fireplace on the far wall. There was a door on that wall as well, and the inner chamber was on the other side. The fire place was shared in it, which was rather a clever design, and it held a large wardrobe, and enormous bed. A bathing chamber was off to the side of the bedroom, with hot spring water that Bilbo wanted to try later.

Beleg, who was apparently fond of Thorin, brought Bilbo’s items to the room without saying a single thing. Several guards had already given their congratulations as well.

The door clicked shut with a finality that had Bilbo’s shoulders un-bunching.

“That was far less painful than I was anticipating.”

Thorin nodded his head and dropped into a chair with a sigh and roll of his neck. “You have done well.”

“I’m mostly just happy I haven’t tripped and fallen to my death yet.” He strolled around the room, examining the books. “Your guards are friendly.”

“In private. They will side with the king if there is an argument of any kind.”

Bilbo nodded his head and kept his eyes on the books.  It didn’t particularly feel like Thorin’s room. It was missing the lived in feel that Oakenshield manor had, but it was also missing anything that was simply _Thorin_. The books were all on statecraft and law, nothing about the history that Thorin adored reading. There weren’t any artifacts like the fascinating bits in Thorin’s room, or weapons that spoke of a long history. The tapestries were clearly old, but they were more zig-zaggy than the knots that Thorin liked in his design.

It felt as though it had been designed for a different dwarf.

He turned on his heel, his hands behind his back, and found Thorin watching him with a shuttered expression. He smiled easily and strolled across the floor, noting that the stone here was warmer than the throne room had been. He went towards the table that Thorin was seated at and hopped up on in. He braced his feet on either side of Thorin’s legs, and leaned towards the dwarf. Thorin watched him all the while with curiosity in his pale eyes. He was only a little taller than Thorin in this position, and that was a very novel sensation.

“Thank you for claiming me before your father.” He stretched down to press a slow kiss against Thorin’s lips, savoring the feeling.

“So this is where you grew up.” Thorin gave his head a small shake, and chased after Bilbo’s lips. He curled his fingers around Bilbo’s thighs and pulled him nearer, very nearly tugging him off the table.

“No, I grew up with my siblings in a nursery. I moved here when I was of age.” He spoke between kisses, still trying to get Bilbo nearer. The chair Thorin was sitting in had arms, but Bilbo could probably sit in his lap if he slipped his legs between the arms and Thorin’s legs. He considered it for a moment and then slid off. Thorin helped him and he found himself in his dwarf’s lap a moment later with his arms casually draped around Thorin’s shoulders.

Thorin seemed quite happy with his lapful of hobbit. He wrapped him close and urged him to press their chests together. There was annoying bits of armor, weaponry, and jewelry in the way, but Bilbo doubted there would be much time for anything, even something as simple as kissing in the upcoming days.

He could imagine thousands of moments like this, stolen between routine and duty. Thousands of moments with just them, ignoring everything else in the world for a moment while they were simply together.

It became startlingly more real when there was a knock at the door.

Bilbo pulled sharply back, his heart racing and his insides feeling shivery like a fever. He pushed himself up as well as he could and managed to awkwardly climb back on the table before slipping to the ground.

“What is it?” Thorin called out, his voice tight with irritation. Bilbo set to straightening the dwarf’s armor and amulets as well as he could.

“Your presence is required, sir!” A light voice called. Bilbo glanced at Thorin in confusion and mouthed the words ‘a girl?’ to which he received a nod, while he gave Thorin’s braids a smoothing touch. He needed to be more careful. He’d rather mussed Thorin up.

Thorin rose from the chair with enviable grace and Bilbo gave his surcoat one last settling yank.

“There you go, your highness.” He said softly with a proud smile. I’ll wait here for you.”

Thorin gave him a long look, his eyes unreadable but for the care in them. “Do not leave without one of the others.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, my Prince.”

-[]-[]-[]-

He pittered about the room for a bit, but there wasn’t much to do in it with Thorin gone. He straightened up, unpacked their belongings, and tended to the fire. He washed his feet, combed his hair, straightened his clothes, and mended a few tears on his traveling breeches.

And then he sat by the fire and read one one of the many law books. He was starting to go slightly loopy from all the khuzdul terms he couldn’t understand, and there was no dictionary to be had. He hadn’t requested any kind of lessons on the confusing language as he didn’t want any of the dwarves he cared for to betray their beliefs in that manner.

He was fine only ever learning terms of endearment.

That lasted him for a while, but it gave him a headache. He stood up again and decided to more thoroughly examine the bedroom when there was what sounded like a slam against his door.

He jumped and scooped the book up, holding it in front of himself like a shield.

“I told you,” a familiar, and fairly irritated voice snapped, “he is _my_ patient. I’ll not share him with the likes of you, Falcor. I know his history, and a fair bit about hobbits. Go find an ailing elf to treat.”

“I was order-”

“And I still have seniority. Now go.” Another thump and Bilbo made his way towards the door cautiously. “Tell his Majesty that I tied you up if you want. You’re not touching Master Baggins either way.” There was a laugh, a curse, and then the door was unlocking and Óin was walking in with a scowl that disappeared when he clicked the door shut. “Go on and sit down, laddie, I’ll be with you in just a moment.”

“What happened?” He took the chair that Thorin had been sitting in while Óin put several objects on the table.

“The King sent someone to inspect your health. I just managed to beat them here. Suspected he might try that.” Óin tapped the side of his nose and wiggled his eyebrows. “He’ll have to get up much earlier to fool all of us. He can’t imagine we actually trust anyone here.” He shook his head and gave a gruff laugh as he walked around the table. “I’m related to him and I don’t trust him as far as Dori can toss him. He’s guarding the door with whoever that was that his Majesty appointed, by the way.”

Dori, while seeming prim and proper, was the strongest in their company. Shouldn’t he have been with Thorin? Though, Dwalin would spend all his life-blood making certain the prince came to no harm… “Why does my health matter?”

“Because Thorin won’t be allowed to marry you if you’re dying or have some terrible illness he can catch. Some sort of rubbish law that was made centuries ago.” He stopped in front of Bilbo. “It doesn’t bode well for a pleasant trip if we’re already looking for reasons you can’t marry. Come on now, off with your shirt. Sit on the table. It’ll be easier to maneuver around.”

Bilbo flushed but did as he was told. One needed to be comfortable with ones healer, and Óin, while abrupt, wasn’t judging. He wouldn’t care what Bilbo looked like.

Bilbo wasn’t certain Óin hadn’t hit the healer who had tried to check him. It was reassuring to have such loyalty. He had a feeling he’d need it in the days, and years, ahead.

It was a fairly routine check up. He’d had several with Óin thanks to the arrow he’d received.

“Have you been drinking the herbal tea? You still have circles under your eyes.” Óin gruffed as he pressed his fingers around Bilbo’s ribs. His fingers were warm, as always, and his touch rough, as always. It was a simple brew of herbs to help him sleep better. It had actually helped. Thorin said he hadn’t thrashed in his sleep for the last week.

“Of course, ghastly though it is. It’s simply hard to sleep with so much...excitement.” Terror was more like it. It was a wonder he’d managed to sleep at all on the journey.

He winced slightly as Oin’s hand glided over his neck, lightly pressing at a mark there. His cheeks flushed but he didn’t duck away. He was courting a dwarf. They were passionate creatures, and there was no shame in bearing Thorin’s marks. Even if he hadn’t been aware of its existence. Which in and of itself was a little silly. He just hoped it hadn’t been visible to Thrain.

Thorin seemed to enjoy marking his neck and shoulders.

“Tell Thorin to ease up, okay?” He straightened up with a mild frown and set his tools down. “You’re skin’s a good deal softer than ours.” Bilbo scowled at that, and Óin gave a loud laugh. It was rare that he laughed at anything anyone did other than Glóin.

“I’m only jesting. It’s nice to see the prince so happy, and you’re healthy as a raven. I suspect he’ll calm down with the… marks, once your hair grows longer. And we get out of here.” The healer’s eyes trailed over his necklace, ear cuffs, and arm coil with a smirk. “Though those will help.”

“Pardon?” Óin handed him back his tunic. He didn’t care for jewelry, but he’d been wearing it since they neared Laketown. Dwarves wore jewelry. The higher the status, the more that was worn. It would reflect poorly on Thorin, and not Bilbo, if he was seen unadorned with such things. Bilbo would never put his comfort over Thorin’s reputation.

“Your have short, curly hair. Because of that, any braids he gives you aren’t extremely visible. Dwarrows have thick, long hair. Good for braiding.” Óin gathered up his supplies and started to pack them meticulously back in his bag.

He hadn’t known about the braids. He knew Thorin took a long while in the morning to braid his hair, but he hadn’t realized that was the reason. He had just enjoyed basking in the attention and affection.

How many worries had Thorin not trusted him with? They’d have to have a talk about such things.

He slid off the table and slipped his tunic on thoughtfully. “You mean he’s worried that I’m not obviously claimed?”

“Yes, but he doesn’t need to be worried.” Óin said as he snapped his bag shut. “The entire kingdom already knows you are a Durin. That information spread like wildfire in a hayfield.” He smiled and clasped Bilbo’s shoulder. “You’re part of the royal family and our family.” He squeezed Bilbo’s shoulder and then dropped his hand. “We’ll keep you safe here, on the road, and at home. Whether anyone else wants to recognize it or not.”  

Family. Bilbo was part of a family. Not just any family, he was part of this family. This odd assortment of dwarves had taken him in as one of their own, and were already standing by him.

It made him grin.

They’d been courting for months. Had Thorin been worrying about his braids for that long? “The mark isn’t terribly obvious, is it?”

“Lad,” Óin said with a huff that might have been an attempt at covering a laugh as he headed towards the door, “you’d have to have a scarf to hide it. Subtle Thorin was not.” He clapped Bilbo on the back and then left. He stood still, a blush burning his cheeks.

Hardly a minute later the door was opening again and Ori was slipping in with bundles of rolled parchment.

“Oh, good, I was hoping I wouldn’t intrude on Óin. I’m not certain Thorin would appreciate that.”

He hardly cared. Ori had at least a dozen thick scrolls, and that promised a long examination. He’d have someone to talk with for a few hours at least.

Ori dumped the lot of them on the table and shook his arms out before spreading them out. “We’re going to go over a few basics on genealogy. I heard-well, technically Bofur heard from Nori who heard from a dwarf in the kitchen who heard from the librarian who heard a guard say, that Thrain wanted to drill you tonight.” Ori smiled consolingly and unrolled a thick, layered parchment that had an intricate family tree. “So we’re going to make you an expert on Thorin’s family.  It’s unendingly useful to have a spy in the family.”

He motioned for Bilbo to sit down, which Bilbo did a little woodenly. “Ready to learn what you’re marrying into?”

He already knew what he was marrying into. Thirteen crazy dwarrows, a kingdom, and loyalty unlike anywhere else. “Go on then,” He said, settling back with a smile. He felt calmer than he had since they’d arrived. None of this really mattered. He was protected, regardless of what the king thought. The Company had his back, unwaveringly.

“Let’s meet the family.”

-[]-[]-[]-

The hall they ate in was enormous, like everything else in the dwarf kingdom. Thorin had reappeared in just enough time to escort him to the feast. Dori had taken care of his clothes, decking him out in a tunic, breeches, weskit, and jewelry he had never seen before. He’d put something on Bilbo’s hair to make it shine, and draped a fur-lined cloak over his shoulders that was wonderfully soft and smelled vaguely like Thorin.

The hall was set up in an upside down U sort of a shape, with the table at the front of the room raised on a dasis. There were several chairs lined up on it, where Bilbo assumed the king and the highest nobles sat. There were tables that ran perpendicular along either side of it as well. The center was left open for reasons Bilbo didn’t initially understand.

Thorin led him up to the right of the throne, two seats over. He took the seat next to the throne after Thrain sat down. Several other dwarves Bilbo did not know sat on the left. Balin and Dwalin joined them at the head table. Glóin, Óin, Dori, and Bombur all sat at the lower tables. Ori, Bofur, and Bifur stood behind Thorin, tall and determined. Nori was still no where to be seen.

Ori, Bofur, and Bifur were serving as an honor guard for Thorin, which allowed them into the feast as they had no nobel relation. Bombur was apparently married to one of Dori’s mother’s cousins, and was noble through that.

At least that was what Bilbo thought. His head was a nasty tangle of dwarven relationships thanks to the hours of relations they’d gone over.

After everyone was seated, but before the food was brought in, Thrain motioned for Thorin to stand. He did so with his usual, enviable poise.

“Dwarrows of Erebor!” He called out in a booming voice. “I stand before you now to present my Sanzueh, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire!”

“Stand!” Ori said behind him, so Bilbo did. He smiled as brightly as he could, feeling a little stifled in all his layers.

“One of the Thains, he has accepted my proposal before witnesses. We wed next Spring. Behold your future Prince-Consort!” Applause (started by the Company) rang through the hall. Some of it was truly enthusiastic, some of it was merely poite. Bilbo made note of those who actually looked happy. It’d be important to know who was more likely to be an ally.

More words were said in khuzdul and Ori quietly informed he was permitted to sit.  He did so, feeling far lighter. That was probably the hardest part of the evening.

Platters and platters of food were brought out in an endless row of dwarves. It smelled delicious, though there were very few vegetables. Thorin sat down at his side and gave his knee a squeeze before returning his hand to his own lap. Bilbo wouldn’t have minded if it had stayed, but he was okay with waiting till later.

He kept his eyes on Thorin while the food was served, taking his cues from him. Thrain was the first to eat, and then everyone else was allowed to. He managed to get himself a bite of roast, moist and ladened with gravy, before there was anything else.

“Bilbo,” Thrain said, his voice a deep rumble. Bilbo’s head snapped to the side with a jingle of beads and jewelry. It was a noise he was starting to grow accustomed to.

“Sire?”

“How did you meet my son?” Thorin was tense at his side but he kept eating which didn’t make his tension obvious. Bilbo allowed himself a smile, softening his eyes and tilting his head towards Thorin. “In a garden. It was a lovely starlit night and we were both out for a stroll.” Bilbo’s smile broadened as mirth bubbled up in his stomach. “He made quite an impression.”

“It was inspired by the Forget-Me-Nots. I had to make certain you’d remember me.” Thorin’s eyes were brighter than they’d yet been in his father’s presence, even though the rest of his expression remained stoic. Apparently he liked the way Bilbo had… adjusted their meeting. They were shuttered again when he turned away from Bilbo, but he had been free for a brief moment.

“Indeed? You simply hit it off?” Thrain asked. He very nearly laughed, and suddenly found that he couldn’t quite look at Thorin and keep his expression normal. He didn’t have the skills at masking himself that Thorin had.

“More or less. Your son is impossible to forget.”

Thorin’s hand squeezed his knee again and this time he left his hand there.  He savored the warm touch and took another bite of the roast. Thrain was staring at him oddly, but it wasn’t turning his stomach quite so badly anymore. He was a story teller by nature. He could weave this tale easily. It was already becoming one of his favorites to tell.

“I didn’t know who he was at first, so we learned about each other, and not our status.” He sipped at his wine, and allowed the memories to lead his words. Thorin relaxed as he spoke, leaving out any specifics about where he had lived. He spoke about the garden, but made it sound  as though he owned it.  He even changed the layout so it matched Bag End.

It was a fun tale to weave.  


	25. Chapter 25

Once the entire hall had been served, a group of dwarves with instruments came in. They set up in the middle of the hall, and then they began to play.

They were very good, and it made Bilbo remember long summer nights in the Shire. There was no dancing as there usually was in Shire parties, but the music was lovely. It also would cover any lulls in the conversations. Brilliant.

Thrain asked him question after question. It took all of Bilbo’s skills to keep from mentioning the manor. He felt as if he was being interrogated, and it was complicated to keep his lies straight.

Which was because Thrain obviously wanted to learn more about the manor. Why he didn’t know about it was making Bilbo curious. If it had been Thorin’s mother’s manor, then it stood to reason that Thrain owned the manor. He could easily obtain any information he wanted on it then.

“You certainly seem well versed on gardening.” Thrain finally conceded. Bilbo wanted to toast in victory, but he masked it completely. He was a hobbit, he could turn any story to plants.

“I am well versed. My mother was the most gifted gardener in all of the Shire. She passed her skills on to me. I can find a peace like no other among the plants.”

Thrain took a long, slow drink of his ale. It was the same type that Thorin had, and it smelled strong. His eyes drifted to the minstrels, heavy with memory. Bilbo’s stomach clenched and he felt vaguely nauseous, the roast certainly wasn’t that appealing any more. Thrain’s wife, Thorin’s mother, had been a gardener… Had Bilbo just reminded him of her? Did he remind Thorin of his mother?

Oh, Yavanna! Had he ever hurt Thorin in that way?

He was an insensitive idiot. They still had a lot to talk about. He was gaining topics by the minute.

“Erebor has no gardens. We have no trees or flowers. How will one such as you be happy here?” Thrain frowned down at him, his one visible eye narrowed judgingly. He clearly thought he had trapped Bilbo.

It nettled Bilbo despite the sympathy that had been flowing through his system. It wasn’t like he had to have those things. He didn’t have to have anything. He needed a place to call home and people he cared about to fill it. The same thing that a dwarf needed. They could live without a mountain.

They just weren’t as happy.

“Because one such as me would have a family. I have found in my travels that I don’t really need anything else. I can always plant another garden. It’s hard to find people you can call family.”

“Well spoken, Mister Baggins.”

“Yes,” Thorin rumbled, his eyes turning on Bilbo with the soft light that he cherished. “Bilbo is quite the diplomat. He has a silver-tongue that can bewitch anyone.”

Well… that was high praise. Extremely high praise. Coupled with Thorin’s gaze, he was having trouble thinking. If his dwarf kept staring at him with those big blue-eyes and slight curl of his lips, Bilbo would find a way to show him just how talented his tongue was. He didn’t care if Thorin was only using it when his father couldn’t see.

“Erebor is a month of solid, hard travel from the Shire. Will that not be too far?”

Why was he trying so hard to discourage Bilbo? “I don’t live in the Shire. It hasn’t been my home for a long while.”

“And it is my honor to provide you a new one.” Thorin said under his breath for only Bilbo’s ears. Thrain distracted himself with his meat, looking vaguely annoyed at Bilbo’s answers.

Bilbo took another bite of his meal and tried to keep his breathing normal. A new thought was blooming in his head, one that had never occurred to him previously.

What if Thrain convinced Thorin that Bilbo wasn’t worth his time?

It was a silly little thought that sprang up unbidden into his mind. One that was remarkably hard to be rid of. Thorin’s hand was still warm on his leg, his thumb rubbing absent circles into the fabric of his breeches. The dwarf had spoken for him against the King. He was clearly determined that Bilbo be at his side. They weren’t even here to win the dwarf’s approval. Thorin clearly didn’t take his opinion very highly.

Balin distracted Thrain with conversation about some new trade agreement. Bilbo took the momentary distraction to breathe again.

“You are doing well.”

“Thank you. I might have inherited some of my mother’s skills after all.”

“There will be another course, and then the open part of the evening will commence. We’ll be expected to mingle with the higher lords and ladies of the court. I’ll introduce you, of course. Thankfully we are expected to remain together. Dwalin will shadow me, and Glóin will shadow you. They will not speak, but they will not leave us. You do not mind?”

“Not at all. It’ll be nice to have someone familiar near while we meet everyone. Just let me know if I step on any dwarvi-dwarrow traditions.”

Thrain’s questions continued and Bilbo answered as well as he could through the next two courses. The desert was magnificent and then the plates were cleared away and Thrain stood. They filed out into an adjacent hall where more minstrels were already set up. They were playing a slow song with a driving drum that made Bilbo feel like something important could, and would, happen. Thorin guided him to the hall with a hand on the small of his back, just like they were back at the manor. He tried not to press into it, savoring even the lightest of Thorin’s touches.

Other dwarves streamed past them, several offering congratulations as they did. There were endless names to keep up with, and Bilbo found himself following Thorin’s lead more than anything. Dwalin and Glóin fell in step with them, and the other dwarrows stood as near as ‘propriety’ would allow.

It went on for hours, and Bilbo had no hope of remembering everything. He found himself thankful for the frequent parties at the Shire as they had taught him how to maintain a smile when he really wanted to glare.

When Bilbo had met everyone there was to be met, they were allowed to retire for the evening. Dwalin, Balin, Dori, Ori, Bombur, Bifur, Bofur, Oin, and Glóin surrounded them, as well as three other dwarves who had nice smiles. They were led back to Thorin’s chambers, and bid goodnight. Thorin mumbled something to Dwalin in khuzdul to which he received a head nod.

Then the door was clicked shut and they were alone.

Bilbo set about removing his jewelry and rolling his stiff neck gratefully. Gold was lovely to look at, but by the Valar fair, it was heavy to wear for hours.

“Thank you, Ghivasheluh.”

“Nonsense. There’s nothing to thank. Couples have been meeting the parents long before us. We’re not even the first one that had crowns involved.” He picked his way over to Thorin and tugged his thick crown off while he spoke. It was the first time he’d ever seen Thorin in the crown-any crown- and he wasn’t certain he liked it. The colors and style didn’t suit his dwarf, and it was extremely heavy. He’d have a headache just from wearing it.

The cuffs were the next to go, then the rings (so many rings… what was with the Durin males and their rings?), then the amulets and finally the chains that decorated his surcoat. He then set about unfastening the clasps, unknotting the ties, and unbuttoning the buttons. Dozens of items later, he finally had everything undone and ready to slip off. Thorin was watching him with a small, amused smile and eyes that weren’t quite so sad.

“Goodness.” Bilbo muttered once he finally had the belt open. “Are all your clothes so complicated? How do you ever get out by yourself? It’s like a maze.”

“I very rarely have to dress myself. The only reason I have today is because you are here. No dwarf would risk seeing you in anything less than fully clothed. They know I would have their head.”

Bilbo raised his eyebrow and pushed Thorin’s surcoat off. “That is ridiculous. Others will eventually see me. What, with the number of guards and servants you have. Or will you kill every healer that examines me? You’re the only I’ll let touch. Anyway, I don’t mind undressing you. We’ll simply have to figure out how to expedite this process or neither of us will ever get any sleep.”

“I did tell you about the greediness of dwarrows.”

“And I’m telling you that jealousy isn’t needed.” He stepped up on Thorin’s boots to press a kiss to the dwarf’s lips and found Thorin’s arms wrapping around him tightly. He lingered for a moment longer and enjoyed the intimacy. When he ended it he pressed his smile against Thorin’s neck, feeling a little helpless with love. “Enough of that now. Let me go. I’ve very nearly freed you from all your layers.”

“And yet you are almost entirely dressed.” Thorin observed as he let Bilbo go. He went back to slipping the items off Thorin.

“Because I’m not even wearing half as much as you. Honestly, with the armor, tunics, shift, and surcoat?”

“I should have suit of armor made for you.” He couldn’t help but cringe at the thought. Thorin noticed, of course. “Nothing so heavy as mine. A maille shirt.” Thorin’s hands settled heavily on his shoulders, squeezing. “You are about the size I was as a lad. I might have something already that would fit.”

Bilbo smiled and finally tugged off Thorin’s shift. “I’m not that short.” Thorin’s responding smile was wonderfully teasing and his eyes were no longer sad.

“You are short, Mizim, but in no way mistakable for a child.” He brushed his hand down the front of Bilbo’s clothes, flicking the buttons undone with little effort as he went. He brought his other hand up and pushed the fabric away, down Bilbo’s arms until it was falling to the floor. “And entirely mine.” He pulled the tunic up, sliding it over Bilbo’s arms and head and discarding it as he ducked his head and claimed Bilbo’s lips.

It was odd, perhaps, how wonderfully domestic it all felt. The teasing banter, soft touches, caring strokes… It didn’t feel like they were in a kingdom they weren’t welcome at, scared for their safety.  It said a lot about the dwarf that he could so easily make Bilbo forget.

“See? Much easier to undress.”

“You’ll find that you’ll have little trouble getting me out of my clothes.” Bilbo hummed in response and wiggled out of his shift. He ran his hand down Thorin’s chest and then stepped back. He gathered their clothes up off the floor and headed towards the bedroom with Thorin’s eyes on him as he went.

The clothes were put away quickly and the jewelry deposited into a large chest. They met back in front of the bed for a long embrace and slow kiss. They curled up under the covers and furs a few minutes later, Thorin holding Bilbo.

“Óin gave me an examination today.” Thorin adjusted the pillow and gave it a settling pat before reclining on it and pulling Bilbo into his arms.

“Indeed?”

“Yes. He was rather… teasing. About my neck.” Thorin’s cheeks flushed slightly, and Bilbo found himself grinning in reaction to the sight of it. “Why didn’t you tell me that my braids didn’t show very well?”

“It was not something I should concern you with.” Bilbo laid his hand flat against Thorin’s chest and pushed up on his right arm. He peered down at Thorin, feeling his heart hammer.

“Thorin… Anything, anything, that concerns you should concern me. And vice-versa. Don’t make me find out something like that from someone else.”

“It was not my intention that anyone should know about my thoughts. They are my failings, not yours. My trials to overcome.”

“But it’s something I can help with. Like you helped me realize I was worried about being my father. That was rather a large failing on my part.” It was hard to admit that, which was silly. His betrothed knew he feared being his father. The whole world could see that.

“Very well.” Thorin tugged on his arm, and Bilbo allowed himself to be pulled down. He didn’t feel like Thorin was really agreeing with him, more that he was simply ending the argument. He would have to keep his eyes peeled for anymore ‘failings’ he could aid with.

-[]-[]-[]-

Bilbo woke with a shiver and curled his arms around his chest to ward the chill away. He stuck his foot out, searching for the delectably warm body he’d fallen with, but it wasn’t there.

That made him pry his eyes open with a pout. It took him a moment to remember why he wasn’t in his familiar bed, but no time at all to realize he was alone in the bed.

He turned his head, a concerned frown replacing his pout. Thorin’s side of the bed was completely empty.

He sat up, alarm clenching his stomach and making his pulse spike. He turned his head to look at the room in front of him, and found his chest relaxing.

His dwarf was in the adjacent chamber, the door had been left open, with his sword.

Thorin’s blade flashed in the light of the burning fire as he put himself through his paces. It had a grace unlike anything else. He moved with assurity, without hesitation and with a poise that Bilbo envied with every breath. Each step was perfect, awe-inspiring and as coordinated as any dance. He almost looked to be dancing with an invisible partner. One Bilbo was very jealous of. He sat perfectly still, utterly breathless with his heart pounding as he watched. Thorin moved with such unspeakable grace, smoothly sliding from position to position in an endless cycle. There was no danger in the movements, nothing to rob the strokes of the simple beauty and elegance of Thorin’s movements.

Why was the dwarf practicing with his blade in the middle of the night? Why wasn’t he in bed with Bilbo?

He slipped from the bed quietly, and padded across the cool floor on silent feet. Most of the dwarves couldn’t understand how he moved that way. They were rarely stealthy. He stopped once he was in the doorway and leaned against the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest.

It took Thorin several more steps to notice Bilbo’s arrival. He stopped abruptly, with a jerk of his blade.

“Bilbo?”

“You’re very good at that.” He pushed off the frame and went to stand in front of Thorin with a small smile. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Thorin turned and made a show of wiping down his blade with a cloth that Bilbo hadn’t noticed before. “It is a good idea to always keep in practice.” Bilbo took another step forward and laid his hand on Thorin’s bicep. He could feel the muscle flexing under hand. Something that was usually distracting in a thoroughly pleasant way.

“Your practice shows.” He returned with a squeeze of Thorin’s arm.

“Did I wake you?”

“No. I grew cold.” He shrugged, trying to stay relaxed. His mind was slow with sleepiness. “My personal heater had left.”

“I did not think to make certain you were covered.” Thorin turned back to face him and Bilbo slipped under his arms. Thorin wrapped him up and he felt warm again.

“Do we have breakfast with your father?”

“A private breakfast.”  Ah. That explained a little of the worry. It was hard to sleep when fear followed you into your dreams.

Perhaps that  was Thorin’s problem. Perhaps he had trouble admitting to fear. It certainly wasn’t something that he’d ever heard a dwarf admit to. None other than Thorin. And very rarely did he hear Thorin admit to a fear.

Maybe he should be more open with his own fears. He couldn’t expect Thorin to open up if he wasn’t willing to open up. Dwarves were far more rigid on expectations, and Thorin was royalty. He could never allow himself such weakness. Thorin had never been betrothed before, he would still be learning what could be shared.

Bilbo simply had to make certain the dwarf knew he could be trusted.

“Come to bed?” He asked quietly, nuzzling his nose against Thorin’s still bare chest. Thorin was always so warm… he made Bilbo feel like a giant cat. He just wanted to stretch out on the warmth.

“I fear I am far from tired.”

“Then tell me a story.” Bilbo slipped his hand into Thorin’s and twined their fingers together. He always found himself cuddlier when he was tired. He wanted to snuggle with Thorin for a few moments before there was even more stress piled up on them. At least he was learning what they needed to work on as a couple as far as communication went.

He more or less manhandled Thorin into the bed and then sprawled out on top of him, pulling the covers over them and soaking in the warmth and comfort of Thorin’s presence.

“What would you like to hear then?”

“Whatever you’ll tell. I’m simply happy to be warm again.”

“I haven’t much imaginatio-”

“Then a memory. I don’t care if it’s something I’ve heard before.” Thorin’s voice was wonderful. It was soothing when he was worried, reassuring when he was scared, arousing when they were passionate, and eternally enrapturing. He could be reading trade laws and Bilbo would find him utterly fascinating.  He didn’t know if Thorin was aware of how attractive he found his voice, but he was happy just to listen. Sleep was already creeping back over him. “Just want to hear you.” The words were a little slurred but they did the trick. Thorin’s arms came around him and fingers combed through his hair.

“There was a lonely prince traveling home after the spring summit.” Bilbo was just awake enough to register what Thorin said as he spoke, and just awake enough to have his heart thump.

It was their story.

-[]-[]-[]-

Breakfast went about as well as dinner had. Thorin helped him to dress, and he helped Thorin. The layers were, surprisingly, even more difficult to put on.

They left early, with Dwalin and Bifur trailing after, and headed towards the ‘breakfast hall’ because Erebor was that big. There were dozens of dwarves going in and out, and a good dozen guarding the door. Thorin gave Dwalin and Bifur an order in khuzdul and they joined the dwarves guarding the door.

Thrain was seated in the throne like chair at the head of the table with an unhappy expression. He couldn’t imagine Thrain looking happy though.

“Father.”

“Your majesty.” Bilbo bowed and took a seat beside Thorin with a smile. He was feeling calmer than he had yesterday and hoped that he could continue that way through the day. They were going to meet more of the citizens today. There would be an open court that Thorin and Bilbo  would preside over.

He had no idea what an open court entailed, but he had every confidence that Thorin wouldn’t let him be too embarrassed.

Thrain didn’t talk for the first fifteen minutes. Thorin remained silent as well, so Bilbo started the conversation with his soon-to-be-husband. He spoke about food first, and then moved on to what he had seen in the town. He talked about what his life had been like in the Shire, telling a few tales about his cousins that made Thrain’s glare soften.

It reminded him of his first month with Thorin. The dwarf had been exceptionally prickly at that time, deep in his distrust of Bilbo. He’d come off rude and pratish. It was only the dwarf he glimpsed at night, the one that cared for his dwarves and home, that made Bilbo keep trying.

For that dwarf, he’d eat a million uncomfortable breakfasts, lunches, and dinners, and chat until he was utterly out of things to say.

They had another six days before they left anyway. He’d need to think of every story he knew, or he’d start singing about trolls again.


	26. Chapter 26

By the end of the breakfast, Bilbo would have given up his food for a week to be allowed to leave. Thrain turned cruel, with thinly veiled insults to hobbits and Bilbo. He said very little against Thorin, and Bilbo brushed every insult off as if it hadn’t actually been said. He had to grab Thorin’s leg to stop the dwarf from standing and doing anything that would damage future relationships.

It would hurt later when he had time to reflect, if he chose to do so. For now he simply kept reminding himself that Thorin had insulted him during their first meeting as well. He’d been called fat, simple, and useless.

He knew now that Thorin had been testing him. It might be the same with Thrain.

He slipped away with Thorin after breakfast for an official ‘tour’ that a guard was supposed to lead them on.

Thorin sent him away with one long look.

It was insulting, honestly. Thorin had grown up in Erebor. Why on earth would he need someone to lead him around it? Thrain might as well have assigned someone to shout on the streets that he didn’t trust his son.

“I would love to give you a tour one day.”

“And I’d love to have one. Not as the prince and his consort though. Now, what news have we?”

“Not as ourselves?”

“We can wear a hooded cloak. There’s little fun in having everyone gawk at you. I’d like to see how the city really is.” He waved his hand through the air impatiently as Thorin turned down a darker passage that thankfully didn’t have any drop offs like Erebor seemed to favor. Dwalin and Bifur trailed dutifully behind them. “But never mind that. What have you heard from Nori?”

“Nothing as of yet. It will likely be another day before he reports. However, Bofur has reported that a group of dwarrows were seen traveling towards Mirkwood.”

“What? Right now?”

“Ere news of our approach arrived here. He hasn’t found who sent them yet. We’ve already sent ravens to the manor. Our dwarrows will be ready for any eventuality. I’ve sent word to Tauriel as well. She will slow any that approach. My sister will also hear, and I have no doubt she will send dwarrows from the Grey Hills. If Nori succeeds, we will make haste on our return and attempt to catch them as they exit Mirkwood… It will not be a pleasant journey.”

He couldn’t understand the relatively relaxed manner that Thorin was speaking with. He was very nearly freaking out at the simple thought.  It was a buzz in his skin, and a throb in his heart. It was, perhaps, a testament to how different of worlds they came from. Thorin had lived through dozens of attacks on his life. Bilbo had been through one. It had been one of the scariest moments in his life.

He’d already had everything in place for an attack. He’d expected it.

How absolutely horrible that he had to distrust his own father so very much.

“The other guards are whispering amongst themselves as well. Ori heard them referring to one know as Urmûn in the library.”

“Urmûn?” Thorin’s head snapped towards Dwalin, alarm flickering in his gaze so swiftly Bilbo nearly missed it.

“Our thoughts as well.” Dwalin’s gaze was heavy with unspoken things.

“What? What does that mean?” Bilbo asked, his head turning between the two dwarves. Neither answered him. Thorin frowned and crossed his arms.

“That does not bode well for us.”

“D ra Uaz… Ki anakigh ma halab kherum uznâlmâ.” Bifur murmured with a distant look in his eyes. “Galab Balin mahkheremhi?” (A D and U… It would seem we found the name of our enemy. What has Balin said about him?)

“That there has long been a rumor of one known only as the worm. We thought it a mere fancy.” Dwalin looked annoyed as he spoke, and he practically spat the words. “He has been accused of several attacks against the royal families.”

“Zatamaradûn? (An assassin?)”

What was going on? Uncertainty was mixing in his gut and causing his breath to catch in his throat. It made him almost dizzy for lack of air. The stone beneath his feet didn’t feel quite so solid, and the corridor felt terribly dark.

“Or many.”

“Would one of you please explain what you’re saying? I’m only understanding half this conversation. Is someone a killer in the kingdom? Under your father’s pay?” He directed the last bit to Thorin, who shook his head.

“No. There is likely an assassin here, but he would work for whoever had money. My father on occasion. The other rune on the brooch you found, it was a ‘U.’ Urmûn means the worm.”

“So there was a D and U, which you have taken to mean Urmûn of Durin?”

“Sa. (Yes)”

Well. Not only was Thorin’s father hiring someone to harm them, it was apparently a famous someone. Brilliant.

Thorin’s hand closed around his and gave a little tug, pulling his body forward and his mind from his thoughts. “Come. We must inform the others of all we have learned. If there is an assassin, we will need to be far more alert. Our trip may have to be cut a little short.”

Bilbo wouldn’t admit that he liked that idea.

-[]-[]-[]-

It was utterly impossible to get close enough. Thorin was pressed nearly flat against his chest, his hand was holding Bilbo’s hips close to his body, and Bilbo had his own legs wrapped around the dwarf’s sides. He had his arms wrapped as tightly around Thorin as he could, and it still wasn’t enough.

Thorin had his head buried in Bilbo’s shoulder, panting hot and heavy against the skin there. Each roll of his hips pushed Bilbo closer to the peak he so desperately wanted, but it was still frustratingly out of his reach.

He wasn’t quite sure how they’d gotten here. The evening feast had been horrible, with only the dwarves that disliked them invited. The malice was a tangible thing, tasteable in the air and feelable on his skin. They had retired tense and silent, falling into bed and each others arms for a few hours of comfort.

Then Thorin had woken him in the middle of the night with a muffled shout. He had been oddly frantic. He hadn’t believed Bilbo was there for several long minutes. Bilbo had given him a kiss in hopes of calming him down, but Thorin had turned his worry into passion and Bilbo had gotten very swept away by it.

He’d tried to separate his mind from his body, but Thorin seemed to know exactly how to drive him to utter distraction. Every caress was distracting, every stroke arousing, and every kiss drove him higher into ecstasy.

A particularly deep thrust that hit the spot in Bilbo which made pleasure spark along his skin like nothing else, had Bilbo moaning low in his throat. He dragged his hand up to Thorin’s neck and buried it in the locks there. He squeezed at the spot where Thorin’s skull met his neck, and Thorin grunted. He could feel the dwarf’s shuddered breath against his skin, addicting and utterly necessary. He dipped his head down, nuzzling at the side of Thorin’s head and searching for the lobe of his ear. He bit down on it once he found it, needing Thorin to break. His own pulse was racing, skittering with sparks that he could feel thumping in the skin of his wrist and neck.  

Thorin didn’t disappoint. He snapped his hips forward twice more, mumbled something in khuzdul, thrust once more, hard, and then groaned Bilbo’s name as he came. He shuddered over him, and seemed to press even deeper as he filled him with his seed and his weight sank onto Bilbo.

It was very nearly hard to breath, and Thorin was absolutely everywhere. His body covered Bilbo entirely, his hair was spread over his face, surrounding him with it’s spicy scent, he was inside Bilbo as deeply as possible, and it made him nearly wild.

“Ghivashuh, Kurduh, Bilbo, mizimuh… _Bilbouh_.”  (My treasure, my heart, Bilbo, my jewel, my Bilbo.)

So many endearments. Each one was breathed into his skin as Thorin tried to catch his breath. He still couldn’t quite breath properly, there was no room to get any air into his lungs. His release was thrumming under his skin, so very near it was almost blinding. He needed it desperately, but he wasn’t quite so far gone that he didn’t notice the tremble in Thorin.

He knew very little khuzdul, but he knew enough to reassure Thorin. The possessiveness of dwarves worked both ways. They were passionate about what they considered theirs, and would go to all ends to claim it. In return, they also loved to be claimed. “Bilboizu, Thorinuh.” (Your Bilbo, my Thorin.)

Thorin cried out, a noise he could feel everywhere, and the dwarf snapped his hips forward. He released Bilbo’s hips and wrapped his hand around his arousal. Bilbo’s head jerked backward and a cry he couldn’t control fell past his lips. Thorin stroke him three times, and that was all it took.

He came back to himself as Thorin withdrew from him, and the bed. The dwarf padded across the floor quietly and went to the table by the wardrobe. It had a pitcher of water to wash with in the morning. Thorin poured some of the water into the metal basin and carried that to the bed with a cloth. He deposited it on the floor by Bilbo’s side and, without quite meeting Bilbo’s eyes, wiped him clean with slow, gentle strokes.

Some day, Bilbo was going to sleep with Thorin and they would have nothing but post coital snuggles. (Because Thorin like to cuddle, even if he never said so.) There would not be a need for some deep, potentially painful conversation.

And it was all because of this horrible place. Without Erebor they could work on these issues slowly, and far more easily. There wouldn’t be a need for Thorin’s trust issues to surface.

He tugged the cloth from Thorin’s hand, quite clean enough, and dropped it into the basin. Thorin watched it fall with a small frown that Bilbo ignored. He sought Thorin’s hand and gave it a small pull. Thorin followed the silent request and climbed up beside him. He pressed Thorin back onto the bed and tucked in against his side, resting his head on Thorin’s chest.

He didn’t speak right away. He simply laid close to Thorin and waited for the dwarf to relax against him. They had all night. It was only three or so. They wouldn’t have to leave their chamber for another five hours.

Finally, when Thorin was lax under his head and his arm was warm around him, he spoke. “Was it a nightmare?”

“Yes.”

“A new one or old one?”

“A mixture of memory and new.” Bilbo nodded his head at that and draped his arm over Thorin’s chest. He curled his leg over Thorin’s as well, wanting more skin contact.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” Thorin’s hand settled on his shoulder, stiff and heavy. “I should not have woke you.”

“I didn’t mind. I want to be there for you.” He was out of ways to explain that. Thorin wasn’t being purposefully dense, he just didn’t want to share his fears. He probably wasn’t used to having someone he could share with. He was a prince, above questioning by any other, and removed from their circles no matter how close they may be. He didn’t have to worry about rank or appearance with Bilbo. They could be themselves without fear.

“That is the second time in as many nights that I have robbed you of your rest.” The dwarf began to caress his arms in long strokes. Bilbo remained silent for a long moment and tried to think of how to better articulate his thoughts.

“I wouldn’t say robbed…. Most of it was quite pleasant.” He brushed his nose against Thorin’s chest and pressed a kiss to his pectoral. His body was pleasantly sore, like the way he would feel after hard, rewarding work. Like tending his garden and-

That was it. That was his way to explain.

“Do you remember when you first braided my hair in the garden?” Thorin’s hand hesitated in it’s stroking.

“Yes.”

“We had an argument. I was confused and irritated at being dismissed and you were trying to protect me.” Thorin nodded his head to indicated his understanding. There was a careful quality in his gaze. “I promised that I would try and be more clear, and you promised to try and be more verbose. So I’m going to be clear now. I am worried. You’ve been more closed off since we got here, and I can understand that, truly. You’re under an immense amount of pressure and you have to be eternally watchful for any attacks or hints that your father is plotting against you. You’ve woken up the last two nights and you haven’t told me why either time. Please, I want to understand what is happening. I cannot help you if you don’t talk to me. And I want to help-no, I need to help.”

He’d pushed himself as he spoke so that he was looking at Thorin. He felt a little dramatic, and wasn’t quite certain he’d managed to get his point across. Thorin’s eyes seemed bluer than usual, intent and focused on Bilbo’s face. They were studying him, and it was strange to watch himself being studied.

“It is not custom for Dwarrows to acknowledge fear, let alone speak of it.”

“Hobbits do. You’re marrying a hobbit, so there has to be a loophole there.” Thorin’s gaze softened, and Bilbo could almost see a hint of a smile.

“I have been chased by evil dreams. Last night I dreamt that Nori discovered my father in the midst of plotting against me, and I was relieved to know it was him who had such ill intentions for me and my dwarrows. Tonight I have seen you.”

He’d work with the first dream in a little bit. Right now he wanted to know what had caused that horribly haunted look in Thorin’s eyes when he’d woken up. “Me?”

Thorin’s hand trailed along his arm, brushing against the scar that the arrow had left with the lightest of touches. The blue eyes focused on the mark with quiet intensity, the entirety of his attention on the pale line of the scar. “This. I saw you as I found you, unconscious and bleeding. You would not wake up, and I could not get you to Óin in time. You died in my arms.”

There was nothing as bad as memories mixing with a nightmare. It made it so much harder to untangle reality from fantasy, and the dark images never really left. No matter Thorin had reached for him. He would have done the same. He had done the same, actually. Even before they were together, he had sought Thorin for comfort.

“I’m glad I was here then. It was time I paid you back for always being there when I had a bad dream. Even before you knew my regard you were there to comfort me.”

“I have not spoken of my dreams since I was a child.”

“Well, you have someone who is very interested in them now.” Thorin nodded his head without saying anything, still running his fingertips around the skin of the scar. He opened his mouth to say something else but paused as he heard a distinct rattle and rumble of someone pounding on their door.

Bilbo’s eyes widened in alarm and he slipped off the bed diving for the floor with a wince, and the clothes that had been tossed on it. He threw Thorin’s tunic at him and grabbed his own sleep pants up while Thorin tossed him his tunic. He dressed as quickly as he could, ignoring the discomfort in his lower half.

“Stay behind me.” Thorin ordered as he lifted Orcrist from the floor by his side. He fastened her scabbard around his waist and Bilbo nodded his head as he went towards the door. He fell in step behind Thorin, trying to keep his breathing slow and steady. Hopefully it wasn’t serious.

It was Dwalin that greeted them. Dori, Gloin, and Bifur stood behind him, and there was no other guard present. A fifth dwarf was in the middle of their group, wearing a purple cloak with the hood pulled low over their face. Dwalin ushered him in, and the other three dwarves remained guarding the door.

“Nori?” Thorin asked once the door was locked again. The cloaked dwarf pushed his hood off his face, and it was indeed Nori. Both Dwalin and him were soaking wet, which made Bilbo think they had been outside. Nori was bedraggled, with a black eye and nasty cut that stretched from under his eye to his neck that hadn’t even been tended yet. The sight of it made him tut and rush back to the bedroom to grab a pitcher and clean cloth.

When he returned Nori was talking in khuzdul too quickly for Bilbo to even be able to tell the syllables apart. It was strange how fast foreign languages always sounded.

He brought the cloth to Nori’s cheek, not paying any attention to what was being said at the while he washed the grime away. They would translate later, and he didn’t want the gash to become infected.

When he finished he pulled three chairs out for the dwarves, and noticed that Dwalin was also bleeding from a cut over his eye.

What had they gotten into?

He fetched another fresh cloth and dabbed it at Dwalin’s head, earning a surprised look from Dwalin. He returned it with a gaze that he hoped portrayed his loyalty. Dwalin had risked his life countless times for Thorin, that alone was reason to aid him. He was also Ori’s love, and Bilbo considered Ori to be his family. He’d look out for him just as Ori would look out for Thorin.

When all the cuts had been washed he put the pitcher and soiled cloths away. He then brought out a bottle of ale and four glasses. He passed them out, lamenting that it was only a drink. If he was at the manor, or his old hobbit hole, he’d have brought food as well. It was terribly bad manners for a hobbit not to have any food to give his guest. Even if they came uninvited in the middle of the night.  He took a seat by Thorin’s side, still having no idea what they were saying.

 


	27. Chapter 27

This would be something Bilbo would need to grow used to. Thorin would have visitors at all hours of the night and day. Rarely would they be for something good. Thorin would probably attempt to let him sleep whenever they came. He needed to make it clear now that if Thorin was up, so was he. Even if he had no clue what was going on, he would support Thorin.

“What measures have been taken?” The common was slipped in with the khuzdul so suddenly, that Bilbo barely registered the fact that he could understand it.

“There have been a dozen guards issued to tend to the king from your allies.”

Tend the king? Bilbo sat up straighter and folded his hands in his lap. The three dwarves looked extremely worried, and Thorin’s expression had slid into the shuttered thing he always had when he was upset and didn’t want others to know what he was thinking.

“What of Urmûn’s allies?”

“I am trying to identify them. We’re strangely fortunate. They don’t know we’re aware of them yet. They think that we’re still under the impression that the king is our attacker. We can use that to set up an ambush. Between us we know over a hundred dwarrows in Erebor we can trust with our lives. That will be enough to set up something.”

“Use anything you need. The kingdom and all her resources are at your disposal.” Nori paused as Thorin spoke, a strange light in his eyes. One that made Bilbo shift uncomfortably. It was heavy, knowing pain and loss that made Bilbo’s own life seem shallow. Whatever he was going to ask, it would be costly.

“All?”

To his credit, Thorin did not hesitate even with the ill-promising question of Nori’s gaze.

“All.”

Nori’s eyes turned on Bilbo.

He froze the moment Nori’s gaze landed on him, but only for an instant.

He had almost expected it. He still had no real idea what was happening-only what he could piece together from previous talks, and what was just said. The king was apparently in danger as well. Whatever plot Nori had uncovered, it was vast.

His shoulders relaxed almost of their own accord. His body un-hunched and he sat tall and strong.

“What must I do?” His voice didn’t waver and the strange calmness that had seen his body relax stole over his mind.  

“We were mistaken.” Nori explained, leaning forward in his chair. Thorin had gone dangerously still at Bilbo’s side. “The assassin was not hired to simply spy on, or kill Thorin.”

Thorin’s hand settled on his wrist, warm and broad. He barely noticed it’s presence as his brain worked overtime to try and put together what that meant. The pieces clicked together, and he inhaled loud and sharp. His hand trembled and he had to swallow to keep from making any noise.

Was Nori saying that the assassin was supposed to bring him to Erebor? Was the assassin after Thorin and Thrain?

His heart seemed to beat off rhythm, and he was painfully aware of every wrong beat.  

He had encouraged Thorin to come here. It was his fault, had he really played into their enemies hand?

“The assassin was not hired by Thrain. I found a source of information, and Dwalin, since we were limited on time, assisted me in extracting it.”

Well that explained the injuries. “There is a plot to kill the king and heir together. They attempted to call Dís from the Grey Hills, but their messenger did not get through.”

“Fíli and Kíli?” Alarm was flickering through him, like a flame licking at a wick. It consumed everything until he was half afraid he wouldn’t be able to do anything but gasp.

“Are safe. We have plans for exactly this.”  Dwalin assured. Thorin still wasn’t saying anything beside him, and he just seemed to realize that through the haze of panicked thoughts.

“What can I do?” He asked again, because he would do anything. This was entirely his fault. He had blindly played in the plotters hand. His family, so newly earned, was in danger and he would be damned to join Morgoth if he did not do everything to aid them.

“You were not expected by Urmûn. At all. He thinks you’re going to be useful, you got us all here and you’re a simple hobbit, but you’re still a wild card. I will use that to our advantage.” Nori scooted further up on his seat, the drink Bilbo had given him forgotten in his hand. “Do you mind rumors?”

“Not in the least.”

“Then how about getting pregnant?” Bilbo laughed, he really couldn’t help it, and blinked in utter disbelief. Nori had an un-amused eyebrow raised, Thorin made a choked noise beside him, and Dwalin gave his head a nod. “I’m actually very serious.”

“But I’m a male!” Surely some things didn’t actually have to be explained as an impossibility.

“And a hobbit with fairy blood. Dwarrows know almost nothing about you lot. No one does. You never leave your home. We know you love food, gardens, and life. We can make it believable. Ori is already working on forging documents with Balin’s assistance. We can use magic to make it more believable. There’s a wizard that favors the Shire, and everyone knows the old forest that lines your lands to be full of magical, and dangerous, creatures.”

“But why?” He was mildly surprised that Nori knew he had mentioned the fairy blood. He hadn’t been there at that time. Had Ori or Dori passed that bit on?

“An heir?” Thorin’s tone was odd in a way Bilbo had never heard, and he had heard Thorin in hundreds of different circumstances.

“Yes.” Nori’s eyes flashed back to Bilbo, knowing and urging Bilbo to trust. “They are attempting to eliminate the ruling line. We would add another to it, and use you to distract. You see, we won’t actually need them to really buy it. We just need them worried that it could _possibly_ be true. Paranoia would take care of the rest.”

It sounded utterly insane, but hadn’t everything been insane? He was betrothed to a dwarf prince he had met in the middle of the night and greeted with a kick. What was a little more insanity? He could act the part. He knew how pregnant hobbits act. Goodness knows it had seemed like his cousins were forever pregnant.

But would anyone buy it?

“Alright.”

“No.” Thorin spoke at the same time he did. It was a tone he was just starting to learn. One he used in political situations with people he did not like but was not actually permitted to be rude to. It was a tone of indifference. Not one that should be used with any of the company. “I will not allow such a thing.”

“Thorin,” Bilbo slipped his hand over top of the one Thorin had on his wrist and turned to face the prince. His eyes were locked on Nori with a hint of darkness. “I-”

“No.” Thorin’s head turned towards him, angry. “You clearly do not understand so I will explain it as simply as possible. They will try and kill you. There are already dozens of dwarrows who would see you dead to harm me. That aside? All in the kingdom will believe I am only marrying you to prevent a bastard. You will lose any respect you have managed to gain.”

The words were sharp, and spoken with the same glower Nori had received, and it _hurt_. Thorin hadn’t talked down to Bilbo in a long while, and he would not have it now. Not in front of the others. He clenched his jaw and averted his eyes, trying to get a handle on everything that was flowing through him. He was far too tired to be discussing any of this; still sore from their activities; terrified in a way that no one else here could really understand because they had grown up in this horrible world; guilty enough that he could feel the emotion turning like a knife in his gut; and determined to aid in anyway he possibly could.

He did not need Thorin treating him like some ignorant, helpless child.

“And you do not understand that I was not asking. The kingdom will know it was a simple rumor in time when I don’t magically produce an  heir, sir.” The word slipped out before he could quite stop it. The old title rising with his frustration and hurt. He hadn’t called Thorin ‘sir’ since he’d asked for his hand.

“We will not allow him to be hurt, Sire.” Nori assured.

“No. We will guard him with our lives as we have already promised.” Dwalin stated calmly, and that made something clench in Bilbo’s stomach that was painful. They’d promised to die for him? He wasn’t worth their lives.

“Start the rumors, Nori. Let me know of anything else I should do. The Prince and I have rather a lot to discuss before dawn.” Bilbo said in a tone he hadn’t used on anyone since his young cousins. It was one that brook no room for argument. Nori’s eyes widened at the sound of it, and Dwalin turned an approving gaze on him.

“Very well,” Nori said as he stood. He downed what was left of his drink in one gulp and deposited the empty glass on the table. “I’ll send Ori in the morning with a list.” He bowed to Thorin and slipped towards the door while Dwalin gave Thorin a last long look. Then the guard was leaving with Nori, and they were quite alone in the very silent room.

He took a moment to make certain he had control of his breathing. It was important he kept his temper in check right now.

He slipped off the chair and gathered the glasses up without saying anything. He deposited them on the table with little interest, keeping his gaze off Thorin while he subdued the anger that made his blood feel thick. He finally turned back around with his arms crossed over his chest. Thorin was still sitting on his own chair with a stony expression.

“My mother,” he started slowly, choosing his words very carefully and working to keep his tone even, “always told me that I should never go to bed angry. I have managed to follow her advice, but I’m tempted to veer tonight. So tell me honestly, right now, are you going to talk?”

Thorin simply stared at him, not saying anything. “No? Then you can listen for a moment and then join me in bed. I do not appreciated being talked down to. It very nearly made me leave the manor on the first night we met, and nothing makes me angrier. You can yell at me, you can call me names, but do not talk down to me. Not in front of others. It is _my_ fault that we are all here, and _my_ choice to aid Nori. You cannot order me about like I’m a mere servant. I told you before we started courting that I was not a slave. I am going to do this with your blessing or not.” He turned his head towards the bedroom and tried to release the irritation and hurt in his belly, but it was a stubborn block of emotion. “Now, I’m going to try and get a few hours of sleep before Ori comes and I have to meet your father for breakfast.” He let his arms fall to his side and exhaled slowly. He could tell Thorin was watching him, but he was in no mood to meet the dwarf’s gaze.

“You would welcome me to bed?” Of all things to respond to. Still, Thorin’s voice held a carefulness that was encouraging. He wasn’t trying to make Bilbo anymore upset. He cared at least.

“It is your bed, Thorin. I won’t chase you away from it because I’m angry. As long as we are together, we share it no matter what.” He strode across the room and pushed the bedroom door open before pausing. “Earlier? I meant what I said. I can’t aid you if you won’t talk to me.”

He continued on into the bedroom and pulled the covers back. They’d grown cold in their absence, and the fire had died out earlier. The single candle was nearly burned up. He slipped onto the bed and tugged the fur up before he leaned over and blew the candle out. He settled back against the pillow and closed his eyes as the darkness surrounded him, leaving him with his thoughts.

He had no idea how much time had passed-he slipped into a place between sleep and awake, just on this side of conscious-when the bed dipped and Thorin slipped in beside him. He couldn’t get enough of a hold on his body to actually say anything, to even acknowledge the dwarf’s body.

“I am sorry.” The words were whispered and a kiss was pressed to Bilbo’s clothed shoulder. “I didn’t mean to push you. I have never had anyone to speak with in such a way. It is hard for me to confide, to trust. I promise I will talk when you wake, Ghivasheluh.” Another kiss was pressed against his shoulder and Thorin laid back.

The space between them made Bilbo ache.

-[]-[]-[]-

A soft caress of his cheek was what he woke to. He blinked bleary eyes and found Thorin’s face swimming into focus. His initial reaction was a smile at seeing the dearly loved face, but it was replaced by an attempt at a blank expression as memories flooded from the previous evening/early morning.

“I have told my father that I will require an extra hour before breakfast. That leaves us two hours until we must leave. Ori will not arrive for an hour yet. I am ready to talk, though I do have a request before we speak.”

Bilbo nodded his head and pushed up on his arms. He blinked and noticed that Thorin was clothed only in his sleep slacks. His hair had been unbraided but for the betrothal braid. “I would ask that you join me for a morning bath.”

That seemed counterproductive to talking, no matter how angry Bilbo was. Thorin was gorgeous, and a wet Thorin would be utterly irresistible. He’d hardly be able to stay upset when Thorin was nothing but wet muscle and hair begging to be tasted.

“Why?”

“Advice given to me by someone else I trust.” Was Thorin’s reply. He stepped back to allow Bilbo some room and clasped his hands uncomfortably behind his back. He wouldn’t quite meet Bilbo’s eyes. This was important to him for some reason. Bilbo could still feel the frightened kiss Thorin had pressed to his shoulder the previous night, unaware that he had been awake.

“Alright.” Thorin’s grin, while small, was immediate. Bilbo climbed off the bed and followed Thorin to the bathroom without speaking another word. He’d already prepared a bath in the impressive tub. Thorin turned towards him when they were fully in and he shut the door behind himself. Thorin’s hands were light on his side, and gripped his tunic’s hem tightly.

“It is difficult for me to share my thoughts. You know this, but it is not an excuse I will keep using. The dream was ill timed.” The tunic was tugged over his head as Thorin spoke, his hands gentle and warm where they touched him. The dwarf’s large hands then settled on his side, fingering the seam of his breeches. “I couldn’t believe you were truly with me, and I found myself with great need of you.”

“I understand.” Thorin’s resistance to putting Bilbo in danger made more sense when he looked at it with that. He was still shaken from the dream, and Bilbo was essentially signing his name to a death notice.

Thorin gave his head a shake and slid his hands to the tie that held Bilbo’s breeches closed. He undid it with deft fingers and then let it slip to the floor while he tended his own slacks. Bilbo tried not to watch. “You cannot truly understand. It has never been your duty to anticipate attacks. I am supposed to be ahead of any who would harm me or my men. Instead I played into their hands. I have now placed you in danger as well.”

“I was in danger before, you’ll recall.” He stated blandly while he tugged his smalls off. He turned towards the bath and climbed in, noting that it was a bit taller than hobbit baths tended to be. Thorin joined him but was careful not to assist him. They settled into the tub, their legs twining as they faced each other. There was a lot to distract. He could feel interest sparking along his skin, but he tried to ignore it.

It didn’t really work.

“Of course.” Thorin conceded.  “I will not lie and say I approve of Nori’s plan. I think it improper and risky, but I was… wrong, to speak to you as I did.” Thorin took hold of Bilbo’s foot as he spoke and brought a bar of soap to it. He dragged it in long strokes over the top of his foot as he spoke, and it made Bilbo’s blood thrum in his veins. “I was cruel when I should not have been. I made you feel less of yourself when I should have relayed my worry. I am sincerely sorry. It will not happen again.”

“Why is it so difficult for you to talk to me about that?” He found himself asking, his eye locked on Thorin’s hand where it was wrapped around his ankle. Thorin barely faltered in his cleaning at all.

“I could say training, but that is not the extent of it. I have few in my life I have ever trusted, and several of them have betrayed me, or left. I have found it easier to be silent. It is easier to let go when you aren’t invested.” He lifted his gaze to meet Bilbo’s and he suddenly found his breath getting stuck in his throat with any words he might have said. There was an openness to Thorin’s gaze that he had seen on very few occasions. A frank vulnerability that made every protective instinct he had surge to life. It also made arousal thunder through his system quick and hot. “I would have you know all of me, and I would know all of you in return.”

Thorin was trusting him. Thorin was giving him everything.

He had his foot out of Thorin’s grip, and his entire body across the tub before he could even exhale. He draped his arms around Thorin’s shoulders as he straddled the dwarf’s lap and brought their faces close together.

“I have more to say, later.” He panted, and then he was diving in for a kiss and nothing else seemed terribly important. Not when there was only forty or so minutes before Ori came.

And Thorin certainly didn’t object. He didn’t even pout when Bilbo made him clean all the water they splashed up off the floor while he spoke with Ori.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: This is NOT a mpreg. In this universe, male Hobbits cannot get pregnant, even if they have fairy blood. I am simply having Nori use the fact that hobbits aren't very well known by the rest of the world. (The Ents took a long while to be convinced they were even a real thing.) With that much mystery and a little bit of magic, most anything would be believed ;)


	28. Chapter 28

The plan was really remarkably simple for how truly silly it seemed. Hearing Ori explain it, and show him the documents he had doctored, Bilbo nearly believed it. He would have a difficult time messing it up at least. Bilbo would simply act like a hobbit who was two months pregnant. As far as anyone was concerned, Thorin had been courting him since they had first met. They’d been betrothed since the day Thorin had asked to court him. It was a little odd, but he wasn’t going to complain.

Thorin emerged from their bedroom fully dressed and aided him in getting to royalty standard while Ori packed up and left. He then looped his arm through Bilbo’s and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“I still want to know who suggested you argue in a bath.” Bilbo said as they headed towards the door.

Thorin’s smile dropped a little bit, but didn’t completely fade. “It was not suggested that I argue in a bath. Only that I do so without clothes. She stated that it was extremely difficult to remain angry when the one you love was naked in front of you. It made arguments far less important, and encouraged honesty. I hoped she was correct.”

That annoying, niggling doubt returned to Bilbo. The one that fretted about how many lovers Thorin had enjoyed before Bilbo. He told it to shut up as firmly as he could and focused on Thorin’s warmth.

“She was quite clever.”

“It was easier to speak. It will take me time, but I will try, ghivashel.”

“And that is all I can ask.”

“Last night was simply ill timed, through no fault of anyone.” Thorin tugged the door open, and they stepped out to find a lot of guards standing at the door. Dwalin and Bifur stood closest to them. Dwalin gave his head the slightest nod, which Bilbo took to mean that the rumors had started.  

Thorin removed his arm from where it was linked with Bilbo’s, only to promptly wrap it around Bilbo’s shoulder. Bilbo’s eyes widened in surprise and he turned his head to look at the dwarf only to find that he was already staring straight ahead. Bilbo gave a mental shrug and went with it.

At breakfast, which Thrain was very late to, he made sure to pick the more nutritious food, and drink milk as opposed to anything else. Thorin was more attentive than he had been previous mornings, passing him his favorite foods, offering him more touches, and longer looks.

It took him an embarrassingly long time to realize that Thorin was acting like a dwarf whose mate was expecting. He hadn’t thought about how the acting would have to go both ways.

Thrain didn’t even pretend that he was fond. He gave haughty stare after haughty stare, and made rude observations about what Bilbo ate.

He found himself wanting to laugh at the utter absurdity of it all. He might have, if it wasn’t for the extra guards milling about. The fact that they were witnessing his talking down was sobering, even if he didn’t take it personally.

“He,” Bilbo observed once they were out of the breakfast and heading towards the library, “has not been made aware of an attack, has he?”

“No. He will not be concerned with such things. It is the duty of the guards to make certain he never has to know about it. He would simply blame it on me if he did know. Which would be unproductive and only make me angrier.” Thorin shrugged in apparent indifference and long suffering. “Have you been briefed on today?”

“I’m supposed to stay with Ori, Dori, and Bofur in the library.”

“Yes.”

There’s also going to be a lot of food, apparently.” Thorin gave him an amused smile.

“That much dwarrows know. Hobbits enjoy their meals. You will have all seven meals that your people are accustomed to.” He paused as they neared the door, studying Bilbo curiously. “Why do you not partake of them at the manor?”

“Because they’re impractical. No one else eats seven meals a day, and it isn’t conducive to the work schedule everyone keeps. I simply eat a few more snacks to help with my appetite. Don’t worry, you lot don’t starve me.”

“I would think it a dangerous idea to try and cheat a hobbit of their food.”

Bilbo grinned cheekily as he pulled the door open and winked before slipping inside. Thorin followed, catching his hand and turning him. “This is where we must depart.”

“Very well. Dwalin? Keep him safe.” He pressed a quick kiss to Thorin’s cheek and gave his hand a squeeze before slipping down the aisles of the vast library. Dori followed dutifully behind him. They found Ori and Bofur at a table in the back, already piling books and scrolls.

“Morning!” Bofur called with a cheery wave that never failed to amuse Bilbo. Ori was a bit more subdued in his greeting. He had circles under his eyes, and Bilbo couldn’t help but wonder if Dwalin had visited him after their meeting in the middle of the night. The dwarf’s swelling had gone down when he saw him at the door that morning.

“We’re technically studying laws this morning, but you’re actually going to teach us.” Bofur explained as he laid an extremely thick tome on the table. Bilbo felt a startling surge of gratitude before confusion sank in.

“I’m teaching what?”

“The language you use in the Shire. Thorin wants us to have a way to communicate that no one else will understand. We’re to assist everyone else in learning. You’ll obviously teach Thorin. We won’t have to be fluent or anything but he wants us to have basic phrases we can use to relay messages.”

“Do you have a list?” Ori pressed a wrinkled piece of paper into his hands. It had what looked like at least three different peoples handwriting on it. He recognized Thorin and Ori’s, but he couldn’t quite figure out the thirds. They were simple things, including numbers, help, locations, and colors.

Odd, but easy enough to teach.

His day went by in that manner. Ori was the quickest to learn, already knowing common, khuzdul, and sindarin. The others knew common and khuzdul so they had a decent grasp on how to learn languages.

There was no fancy dinner for Bilbo that night, but he did make a bit of a show in having different yarns sent to Thorin’s chambers for ‘special projects.’ Thorin joined him late into the evening with an apologetic kiss and a tired roll of his neck. They crawled up on the bed with Thorin’s head resting in Bilbo’s lap. He brushed his hair while they went over the words he had taught the other dwarves. Thorin was plagued with another nightmare, but now Bilbo knew how to take care of it.

Their fourth day went much the same, but Bilbo noticed a lot more gazes following him wherever he went. There were whispers and gaping expressions as well. He dutifully taught his friends, and attended another feast with Thorin. He felt as if half the dwarves in attendance were extremely cheerful and attentive, a quarter were fairly incredulous, and the last quarter were distant.

Thorin received an equal share of long looks.

And still he had nightmares. Bilbo wanted to find a way to prevent them, but had no idea how to go about that.

He woke up on the fifth day with a slow stretch and sigh. Thorin was warm against his back, curled close and protectively. His arm was draped over Bilbo, holding him and keeping him pinned to the bed.

“Why are you such an early riser?” The question was asked into his hair where Thorin had tucked his nose.

“You’re up too.”

“Only because my companion is twitching.”

“That’s because you’re arm is too heavy to move.” He twisted over as well as he could and smiled up at his almost-husband. “We don’t have breakfast with your father today?”

“No. He had… other matter’s to look into. I suspect his men have heard the rumors about you and are intent on sharing it.”

“That’s spread surprisingly fast.”

“Of course.” Thorin released his hold on Bilbo and stretched languidly before sitting up. “Rumors about royalty, specifically ones that hold a scandalous nature, spread like wildfire. I suspect there isn’t a single dwarf in the kingdom who hasn’t heard by now.”

Thorin slipped from the bed and strode across the floor to the wardrobe, leaving Bilbo to enjoy the view from bed.

“I can take breakfast with you, but then Dwalin has a guard he wishes me to meet. Dori and Bifur will trail you today.”

He hummed in affirmation and climbed off the bed, feeling lazy and fighting the urge to drag Thorin back under the covers for a nice lie in.

The breakfast was lovely, if entirely too quick, and then Thorin departed for what would likely be a long while. Bilbo met Ori and Bofur in the library, with Bifur and Dori trailing.

They worked on numbers until lunch. Bofur and Ori went to fetch it. Bilbo returned the books, Dori following him as he set them back on their shelves.

“You’re not the first, you know.”

He started at the unfamiliar voice and turned his head around but didn’t see anyone. “He probably never spoke to you about it. Probably made you believe you were the only one…” A snicker followed the hissed words and Bilbo found his body going rigged in alarm and anger. Dori moved in closer, his eyes narrowing.

“What is it?”

“Someone was talking, but I don’t-” Dori didn’t wait for him to finish before he was next to the bookshelf, pushing the books aside to peer at the other side. Bifur jogged towards them from where he had been posted to guard. “Sud?”

“Possibly…”  He pulled back from the shelf and turned to face Bifur and Bilbo. “Take him back to the table and wait for Ori. I’m going to examine the shelf. There isn’t anyone there now, but they may have left something.”

“Sa.”

Bilbo was ushered  back to the table, where he sat down, and found that he was oddly calm. Bifur stood beside him, tall and imposing, and silent. He was going to be okay.

What had the intruder been talking about? Thorin? That was the only thing that made any sense. He, Bilbo, didn’t exactly blend into Erebor. Especially not with the large, bare feet, and fairly short, curly hair.

“Yâsithul achùshoimênu?”(Why are you worried?) Bilbo blinked at the syllables that sounded more like a cough than a word. Bifur gave him a long look and repeated the word with three sharp hand movements that meant nothing to Bilbo. Bifur gave an extremely long suffering sigh and shook his head sharply. His hair looked even frizzier after the motion, giving him a wild look. He pointed towards the bookshelf sharply and huffed.

“Err, the dwarf?”

“Sa!” That was one of the few words he knew. He only knew it because of the time he spent with Bifur. It was some form of ‘yes.’

“I didn’t actually see him. Just heard him.” He fidgeted with his hands and considered grabbing a book off the shelf. It would give him something to do but would probably look a little silly.

“Kulhuhi galabaz?” (What did he sound like?)

“What did he say?” Bilbo tried. Bifur shrugged and shuffled a little closer. Apparently that wasn’t what he’d asked, but he’d take it. “That I wasn’t the only one. Nonsense.”

“Zirikhi hurusdumû mênu.” (He want’s you angry.) Bifur stated in a growl, though it was hard to tell if it was genuine irritation or just the way the words were meant to be said. Khuzdul always sounded sweeter when Thorin was speaking it. His voice made the gruff syllables softer, and extremely addicting.

“There’s no one, or thing, there.” Dori said as he crossed the floor with sharp steps. He had his hands fisted at his sides in obvious irritation. “Whatever they wanted, they’re gone now.” His grey eyes flicked to Bilbo, considering and narrow. They darted over his form, seeming to check if anything was out of place. “What did he say?”

“Galabhi Thorinâl mahabrûf zatakhazad zaiErebor.” (He said that Thorin has fucked every dwarf in Erebor.)  Dori made a choked noise and lurched at whatever Bifur said. The wild dwarf gave a toothy grin that was vicious, before the expression shifted to anger. Dori schooled himself and stood straighter, turning towards Bilbo with a frown.

“Well… I hope he didn’t say it quite like that.”

“He just said I wasn’t the only one, or first. Whatever he meant.” Bilbo hurried. Bifur was staring at him with wide eyes and an otherwise blank expression. It made him horribly uncomfortable, mixed with Dori’s sympathetic expression. All the voices in his head he’d tried so very hard to ignore surged back.

“Ze aklîl izd?” (Someone trying to split them?) Dori asked, turning his head to look at Bifur who frowned.

“Bên mâhaz mahmazar.” (Or cause a fight.) Dori nodded, his eyes dropping to the floor in thought.

“Kigh ühyùbir waurùthukh?” (So a distraction?)

The door to the library, behind Bilbo and several aisles away, slammed shut. Dori snapped straight and Bifur twisted towards the door; removing a dagger from his pocket and taking a step towards the entrance.

“Stop that!” Dori chided, his eyes locked on something behind Bilbo as he flapped his hand at Bifur. It’s most likely my brother and your cousin!”

Bilbo could smell beef stew, and it made his stomach rumble eagerly, even if the rest of him felt a bit ill.

“Lunch!” Bofur cheered happily as he came around the corner. He was staring down at the tray in his hand and nearly walked into Ori who was staring at Bifur with wide eyes.

“Erm? Did we miss something?” Bifur shared a long look with Dori who frowned. Bifur shrugged and turned back to the younger dwarves.

“Sa.”

-[]-[]-[]-

It took twenty minutes to sort everything out, and another thirty to thoroughly search the library. After that, and a very hasty lunch, Bilbo had to go to an ‘open court.’ He was seated on a very small throne-but a throne none the less- next to Thorin, who was in a slightly smaller throne than Thrain.

The entire process was odd. Dwarves came in with request, complaints, disputes, and the like to ask their king, prince, and his soon-to-be consort to settle whatever they came with. There were several disputes about mining strains, which Bilbo didn’t understand much about.

He shocked the entire court when he made a suggestion about an inheritance that saw the entire thing settled quite quickly.

It was mildly insulting. Just because he didn’t speak their language didn’t mean that he was incapable of understanding basic family problems. Those transcended race. At the end of the day, there wasn’t that much difference between a hobbit and a dwarf.

He was used to surprising others, but the fact that he still surprised Thorin was a little hurtful.

He suppressed the feelings as well as he could, shoving them with the hurt of Thrain’s glares and harsh words. It was a relief when he was finally allowed to leave. He was supposed to head to the library for more lessons, but he didn’t feel like teaching anything. His head was a horrible muddle of thoughts and he really wanted nothing more than a bit of supper and time to think.

He retired to Thorin’s chambers to spend the next few hours alone. Thorin would be detained at a dinner with the council, one Bilbo wasn’t permitted to attend, yet. It didn’t sound terribly entertaining but he would have liked to support Thorin.

He had a meal of roast chicken and wild berries that Bombur made, and and allowed Oin to run a pretend examination. They were going to have him stop by daily for  the remainder of their trip to promote the idea that Bilbo was expecting.

It was odd to have eyes trained on his stomach wherever he went. It was enough to make him extremely self conscious.  Several dwarves (Thrain) already considered him fat.

After Oin left Bilbo cleared away the remnants of his meal and straightened the inner chamber. They hadn’t allowed anyone else to tend their things as Thorin simply refused to trust anyone.

The bathroom was clean enough from Thorin’s hasty ministrations that morning, and the sight of it made him smile before an ill twist hit his stomach. He might not have been the only one to join Thorin in that tub. If the dwarf that had spoken to him that afternoon was to be believed.

Still, the thought of Thorin with another man bothered Bilbo more than he cared to admit, even to himself, even in the privacy of his room. The more he tried not to think about it, the more he seemed to find himself thinking about it, and the more annoyed he became.

At himself, of course.

It would be lovely to be angry at Thorin. To remember their first night with something other than bittersweet love. To feel fury at the dwarf for never actually explaining that during his life he’d had others. For pretending Bilbo was so very special.

As was, he was just disappointed and disgusted with himself. He couldn’t hold Thorin’s past against him. The dwarf had lived for nearly two centuries. It would have been lonely. He hadn’t asked either. Whatever had happened in the past wasn’t his concern. He had no reason to be jealous of it. Thorin’s future was his, and the dwarf had promised loyalty.

He slid off his coat and vest and sat down on the furs before the fire. He stretched his cold feet out in front of the fire and leaned back on his palms with a sigh. He let his eyes study the flickering flame as his mind wandered over the day. He became utterly lost in his thoughts and didn’t hear anyone enter until hands were settling on his shoulders and making him jump.

“Hello, Bilbo,” Thorin greeted him, his voice deep and smooth, “I searched for you at the library but the others told me you were here.” He sat down behind Bilbo, placing his legs on either side of him and wrapping his arms around Bilbo’s middle. He was pulled back into Thorin’s chest and kissed on his cheek before the dwarf’s head settled on his shoulder.


	29. Chapter 29

“Staring at the fire?” Thorin inquired with words that blew against Bilbo’s ear in a fairly distracting way if he hadn’t been so distracted by other things.

“Thinking.”

“About?”

“Did anyone tell you about the library visitor?”

“Bifur mentioned something about another patron. Was it more than that?” Thorin’s grip tightened infinitesimally and his voice took on a darker edge.

“A bit more. I was returning books while Ori and Bofur fetched lunch. While I was putting one away in the south end, someone spoke to me.”

“What did they loo-”

“I didn’t see them. They were gone before Dori could see them either. He said ‘You’re not the first, you know.’ and ‘He probably never spoke to you about it. Probably made you believe you were the only one…’” Bilbo swallowed and rushed on before Thorin could speak. “Then Bifur and Dori went on in khuzdul for a very long while, and it was time for open court. It was rather odd at the time, but I think whoever it was simply wanted to make me feel unsafe.”

“Did they succeed?” It would be uncomfortable if he was held any tighter.

“No.” They had simply made him think. He’d spent the entire afternoon in a bit of a funk thanks to whoever it was. He wouldn’t let them have anymore time.

“Did they upset you?”

“Of course. It rather ruined the rest of the lesson and took away any enjoyment lunch might have held.”

“Not what I meant, Ghivashel.” Thorin’s hands slipped down to rest on his own legs, and Bilbo suddenly couldn’t stay still. He didn’t want Thorin’s sympathy or pity, or _guilt_. He didn’t need that. He gulped in a large lungful of air, stood up, and walked towards the right, keeping his eyes off Thorin.

“Bilbo-”

“No. It didn’t upset me. I understand that hobbits are odd and rather rigid on what is considered proper and I do _not_ expect anyone else to follow that. Nor does it-” Thorin’s hands settled on his shoulders again to turn him irresistibly around. The dwarf peered down at him with dark eyes and alarm clearly written in his expression. There was no guard up.

“Dwarrows are the same. We rarely, if ever, turn our attention from whatever our craft may be. We rarely, if ever, feel the need for anything else to be truly happy. When we do find one we wish to be with, there can be no other. We will pursue them to all ends. If they reject us, we go on as before. We do not casually lay with anyone.” Thorin’s head dipped down until their foreheads were resting against each other. “There has been no other.”

The sharp pain that had been lodged in his chest, and the voices that had been rambling since that morning, all faded. “Thorin,” he murmured and stepped closer. He slipped his arms around the dwarf’s chest and tried to press as close as he could. “I-it wouldn’t have mattered. I was angry at myself, not you. _Never_ you. I’ve been curious for ever so long, but couldn’t find the courage to ask.”

“I will burn the dwarf who did this. He tried to turn you from me.”

“Well,” Bilbo chuckled, savoring the feeling of Thorin’s arms wrapping around him, “I seem to recall you saying the same thing about Nori.”

“I forgave him because he assisted you. This dwarf has no ties to me. It is against the laws of Erebor to try and harm a member of the royal family. He will be tried for what he has done.”

“For simply talking?”

“For causing you distress. I will allow none to do such while I can stop it.” The guilt he felt about his father’s abuse was obvious.

“The entire thing was simply odd. He had to know you wouldn’t simply lay around. He had to know it wouldn’t have driven us apart. He couldn’t even be sure I hadn’t come to you with previous partners… It was a terrible scheme to break us up…”

“He may have wished to say more.”

“I don’t imagine so… He trailed off and simply stopped speaking. He had a good thirty seconds more to speak before Dori was even at my side. He didn’t check the other side until after Bifur had taken me away-oh!” Oh… Yavanna’s grace, he had missed it all in his worry. He had missed the obviousness of the timing and everything. The dwarf had clearly studied him, had known exactly what books they were using and knew where it would be shelved. Erebor’s library was enormous. They had used books on farming law while they pretended to study. They were rarely ever used and most likely not to be missed while also being extremely thick.

He hadn’t wanted to simply upset Bilbo, he had wanted to check his defenses.

His face must have spoken something of his utter horror because Thorin gave him a shake and called his name with the desperation of one that had done so several times. He blinked up at the dwarf, trying to breathe past the shocking revelation.

“He was checking that.” Bilbo blurted, and Thorin’s eyes narrowed. “Dori. He was checking how closely I was guarded. The books-he couldn’t have known where they would be, and he had to be waiting or Bifur would have seen him moving.”

He found himself being pushed suddenly, and firmly, away. Thorin’s expression was hard and his gaze determined. “Stay here.” He strode purposefully towards the door, and Bilbo, quite simply, could not take any more.

“No!” He lurched forward, a little dramatically, and grappled for Thorin’s weskit before his fingers closed on the material. “Not without me.”

Thorin turned, his eyes large and angry. His features always looked sharper when he was upset. There was a dark side to the dwarf, one that had seen battle and caused deaths. One that was utterly frightening and that Bilbo only ever caught glimpses of in these sort of situations.

That dark side hadn’t been directed at him yet. Even now it was for the other dwarf. “I told you to stay.”

“And I’m tired of being told to stay. I am not a damsel in distress. You are going to be my husband, and I’m going to have to know how to handle things in your absence. I’m never not going to be danger. I have to be able to take care of myself, and I am _tired_ of not knowing what is going on.” He walked to Thorin until he was standing with his feet touching the edge of Thorin’s boots. He had his hands on his hips and a scowl on his face, and he would have stomped his foot to emphasize the point if it wouldn’t have made him look childish. “So we go together.”

“I need you safe. I am not as use-”

Bilbo held up his hand to stop Thorin. He’d already heard that rant. “No. You are not going to talk to the guards without me. Bring them here if you want. I’m going to be beside you either way. And don’t you _dare_ try and use khuzdul to stop me from hearing. I know it’s bad, and I should like to go on from this point fully informed.”

“You are defying everything I have asked.” Thorin growled, challenge in his eyes. Bilbo didn’t particularly care.

“Yes. You’ll recall it was one of the things that had you falling for me.”

“And that which makes me want to pull out my beard.” Bilbo huffed out a laugh at the glare Thorin gave him and made his way towards the door. He was going to get his way on this. Secrets had been kept from him since day one. He was going to make certain each one was pulled out by the roots, and that not another one had the chance to even take root.

He tugged the door open to find Dwalin standing guard with Ori knitting on the floor beside him. Ori’s voice was cheerful in the air, the tale end of his words hanging unworried around them like a spell. His needles clicked to a still and the light expression on his face faded. Dwalin’s shoulders stiffened and his gaze darted down to the tutor before turning to meet Bilbo’s gaze. “Send for the others. We have a report to give.” Ori pushed himself up clumsily and nodded his head as he gathered his yarn and supplies.

“Of course.” Dwalin stared over Bilbo’s head, at Thorin no doubt, while Ori darted off. At least he didn’t question Bilbo. He closed the door with a click and turned back around to find Thorin had left. He was in front of the only exit for the room, that he was aware of, which meant Thorin was probably in the bedroom.

“Thorin?” He called, feeling oddly tentative. Had he pushed too hard? There was no answer to his inquiry. He took two steps forward and heard a loud thump.

Thorin came out of the bedroom with a bundle and frown. He deposited it on the table and, with a glance at Bilbo, unwrapped it. Bilbo moved closer to see what it was and found himself looking at a shirt that sparkled with the light of stars. It was a lovely silverish color unlike anything he’d seen. It took him the entire time that Thorin unfolded it to realize that it was a mail shirt.

“This was gifted to me by my grandfather when I was a lad. It would please me if you would wear it. It will not be too heavy for you.”

“What is it?” He couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to touch it. It was cool to the touch, and none of the links caught on his skin.

“Mithril.” Bilbo’s breath caught and his eyes darted up to the dwarf. He was looking at Bilbo with a determined gaze and gritting his teeth.

“Thank you.” He felt it was far too fine a thing for him to wear, but he wouldn’t say as much. Thorin was already aware of how he felt about such things.

The dwarf helped him remove his top layers until he was bare, and then he slipped the mail on with strong hands. The mail was cool everywhere it touched him, except where Thorin’s hand was pressed against him. He could feel the warmth through it, and he wanted to yearn into its touch. “It is stronger than dragonscale. The most durable metal we possess.”

“And from what I’ve heard, worth more than all the Shire.”

“Perhaps. You will wear it regardless. The shirt is mine to give to whomever I wish.” Thorin ran his fingers along the collar once more before pulling his tunic from the table and putting it on. Each item was donned once more and then Thorin pressed a slow kiss to his lips. He grasped Bilbo’s face and explored his mouth with leisurely sweeps of his tongue and soft nips until Bilbo _needed_ more.

And the blasted door rattled with a knock. Thorin broke away instantly, releasing Bilbo and heading towards the door. It took Bilbo a few more breaths to get to the same point.

“Sire.” Dwalin greeted with a bow as he ushered the other dwarves in. Everyone but Nori was there.

“You as well, Dwalin. Have Miri and Pora guard the door.” Dwalin nodded his head and made two hand motions that had other guards taking his place.

-[]-[]-[]-

From now on Bilbo would never be allowed to leave alone. They only had one more day before they left Erebor. The dwarf would have to attack in that time if they wanted to end the potential of an heir. Nori had disappeared to find the lair, and the guards were all working in tandem to subtly search for any threats.

The number of rumors floating about were utterly shocking.

He was just excited that they were thirty some hours from returning to the mansion. He was so tired of this place and the dangers that loomed around it. It wouldn’t have been so terrible if it wasn’t also accompanied by Thrain’s obvious malice.

He was rather convinced that he reminded the dwarf of his wife. Solely because Thorin was obviously happy with him, and he liked to garden. It wasn’t much to go with, but the dwarf queen had apparently had golden hair like Fili as well.

He had an exceptionally busy schedule the next morning. He was to examine the mines, visit the market, inspect the food supplies, attend a large feast for dinner, and finally retire to his chambers.

Dori, Bofur, Bifur, and Ori trailed him for the activities. Ori and Bofur under the guise of friends. He faked a dizzy spell between the mines and market, hoping to improve the rumors flying about him.

It was disconcerting to hear dwarves murmuring about him. Some believed he was a girl that looked unfortunately masculine (ugly was the word used); one was convinced he had been enchanted by a wizard; another said he was a wizard; a few thought the entire Shire was full of pregnant males and stated that if her friend had been a bit more worldly she would have known such things.

He smiled as politely as he could, grateful that nothing about him necessarily screamed ‘I am the pregnant guy!’ It was scary how detailed the gossip was.

Ori was bright red in embarrassment, and Bofur’s face was extremely contorted from trying not to laugh. Dori looked horrified and Bifur looked as though he could have cared less.

Bilbo was certain he was red. He had never heard someone so blatantly describe what another might do in bed.

He was grateful beyond measure when he finally escaped from the market.

“That was the most unpleasant experience of my life.” The path was long and thin like everything else in Erebor. The dwarves seemed to get a great joy from defying gravity with the height of everything. Bilbo would have preferred to be near the ground. Bifur was leading them with Dori taking the rear. Ori was at his side and Bofur was right behind them.

“I can’t believe she said that!”

“Your brother is extremely effective. I’d be surprised if he wasn’t the one _that_ told that rumor.” Bofur observed, smiling cheerfully.

“Ma- _hal_ I did not want to hear that.” Dori snapped. Bifur drew to a sudden stop and pulled the boar spear he carried off his shoulder to point it forward with a growl that sounded utterly feral. Dori spun around so his back was to them, Bofur tugged a knife from his pocket, and Ori pulled out a slingshot.

Bilbo stopped dead in his tracks and sucked in a shocked breath as he was literally walled in by dwarves.

“What?”

“Nâla mashomakh.” Bifur declared.

“The path isn’t guarded.” Ori faithfully translated.

“Arukhmâ zataganag.”

“We need to leave, now.” And then Ori and Bofur both had a hand on him to keep him hunched and they were all running forward. A shout echoed that seemed to come from the vast, empty air to their left, and then a horribly familiar whistle sounded. Arrows skittered across the path around them, but the others didn’t hesitate in their running. It was hard to breathe, but the thought of stopping was terrifying.

Everything became a confusing swirl  of colors, sounds, air, heat, and hair. He was pushed close to the others, forced to go faster until they were turning down a path. Guards flurried about them, and Dori pulled him close. Shouts filled the air, battle cries in khuzdul. Dori hauled him up and charged down the hall, Ori and Bifur, at his side.

He was being _carried_ and they were being fired at and he couldn’t really see anything.

He knew better than to say anything or make any attempt to do anything. The dwarves knew what they were doing. The best thing he could do was listen.

When the madness finally ended he was in a locked room he had never seen before with at least a dozen dwarves he hadn’t met before.

“Bofur.” Bifur growled as Dori set Bilbo down on a chair. Bilbo felt as if his entire body was shaking. He felt shivery like he had a fever, and he was certain he’d turned as pale as a ghost. He was dangerously near to hyperventilating and realized, with a strange, detached interest, that he was on the verge of actually having a panic attack.

“I-I think he was hit.” Ori managed, sinking next to Bilbo with a slight tremble. “I-”

Bifur snarled a curse that Bilbo didn’t need to understand. He agreed with it wholeheartedly.

Someone had been hurt for him. Bofur, happy, silly-hat wearing, Bofur had taken an arrow because he’d agreed to accompany Bilbo. Where was he now?

Bifur whipped his spear around, rambling in khuzdul at an alarming rate with a feral fire in his eyes. Dori lurched toward him, eyes narrowing and jaw clenching. The spear came down on the table with a loud, startling crash that had Bilbo gasping and jumping.

Words, that didn’t sound like khuzdul, common, or any other language, poured from his mouth and Dori finally reached him. The strong dwarf placed both his hands on the bezerker’s shoulders and forced him around so that they were facing each other. He then spoke commandingly in khuzdul, his gaze level and calm. Bifur watched him, twitching, his face in a terrible scowl until it suddenly relaxed and everyone released a breath.

-[]-[]-[]-

When they were finally escorted away, it was by dozens of guards to a council room the king and other court officials would be in.

Thorin wasn’t in the room. Thrain’s eye locked on him the moment he entered and scanned him from head to toe. He made certain to stand tall and unafraid. He couldn’t appear weak. There were dwarves everywhere, and the room was already crowded before their arrival.

“My son?” He asked without moving his eyes from Bilbo.

“Is on his way.”

“Injuries?”

“Only the guards.” A knight, one Bilbo hadn’t yet met, responded to each question with barely a breath between.

Ori stiffened at his side and Bilbo’s heart went out for him. He sent a silent prayer to Mahal and Yavanna that Dwalin and the others were safe, but he couldn’t fight the way his own body relaxed at the news that Thorin was safe.

“Dwalin, Balin, Óin, and Glóin had Thorin.” Dori whispered at his side, hands clasped behind his back. “We’ll have completely given ourselves away after this trip.”

There would be no thank you, or apology he could make. It would insult rather than honor. They had done it because of the love and loyalty they bore for Thorin.

The doors burst open with startling suddenness, and every guard, knight, and servant in the room spun towards it, weapons out and aimed. Glóin was first in, with Thorin directly behind him. Bilbo, to his shame, lost track of who else came in for a moment. His eyes scanned the prince’s form, taking in the skewed clothes, mussed hair, and soot streaked cheek. There was no blood or bruises to be seen. His chest unknotted and a weight he’d been ignoring faded from his shoulders.

Ori made a gasping noise beside him, pained and alarmed, and he found it in himself to look past his dwarf before meeting blue eyes. Dwalin was limping, a hand pressed to his side. Blood was seeping between his fingers, and Óin had an arm around his chest to help him walk while he muttered instructions. Balin was right behind them, holding Óin’s medical pack.

Satisfied that everyone was accounted for, Bilbo’s eyes darted back to Thorin. Thrain was speaking to him in khuzdul, hushed words that were sharp and staccatic. Thorin nodded and replied with a slower, calmer voice.

He’d never actually seen Thrain worried. It was a strange thing, unfitting with everything he had seen of the dwarf to date. His hand was on Thorin’s elbow, barely touching.

“Just sit down.” Dwalin was deposited into a seat next to Bilbo, and Ori was instantly behind the chair, not saying anything or touching anything but the chairs back. “Hold his hair back, lad. I’ve got to stitch this up.”

Ori lifted his hair and beard away while Óin peeled the fur and leather armor away. There was a tunic and  shift under that which he assisted in removing, and Bilbo noted that the multiple layers things was apparently just a trait of being a dwarf.

It was a ghastly cut. It wasn’t clean like a sword or axe, but was too wide to have been an arrow. The skin was slashed, as though something had ripped it open, and everything was red and it made Bilbo extremely queezy extremely fast.

The tips of Ori’s fingers rested against the back of Dwalin’s neck, and he still didn’t say anything. “Bilbo, fetch me my bag.”

Bilbo rushed to do as he was asked, giving Balin as confident a nod as he could. He’d lost sight of Thorin in the fray, but didn’t think anything of it as he returned the pack to Óin who tugged two bottles, a cloth, and small leather pouch. He splashed a clear liquid onto the cloth glanced at Dwalin who nodded, and dabbed it over the wound. Dwalin’s jaw clenched but he made no noise other than a hiss. Oin was muttering about a loss of blood and cracked ribs and something about a punctured lung that had Bilbo nauseous. Dwalin was very pale, and Ori was as well. A steely, determined look had come over the tutor and his eyes were set on the back of Dwalin’s head. Gloin was talking to Bifur about Bofur, and Dori was listening attentively, no doubt making notes for Nori.

“Sir,” a demure dwarf, something Bilbo had never seen, murmured at his side with his eyes downcast. “The king wishes you join him and the Prince in the room connected to this.”

“Erm,” That was hardly royal and very unimpressive so he swallowed, squared his shoulders, and nodded. “Thank you.” The servant looked thoroughly surprised as he turned to lead the way, which annoyed Bilbo. Servant or not, everyone should be thanked for assisting.

He followed without another word, his eyes on the back of the servants head. She had brown hair that was neatly braided with red beads and sapphires. He wasn’t certain why he inevitably noticed details like that in the midst of problems. They had to push their way through bodies of guards and important people until they were finally at the back of the room.

“Right this way.” The dwarf pulled the door open and stepped inside. Bilbo dutifully followed, waiting as the servant shut the door behind them. Someone grabbed his arms from behind and a cloth was pressed over his mouth. He had just enough time for a muffled cry, and then the world grew dark.


	30. Chapter 30

Bilbo’s head was pounding in a way that made everything else seem distant. He was aware of it from the first moment he started to wake, to the moment when he realized he was sitting in a rather hard chair.

Strike that. He was tied to a rather hard chair.

He was slumped forward against the bindings, his head hanging and his ankles tied to the chair legs. Something wet was trickling down his cheek, and his mouth felt cotton dry. There was strip of cloth tied around his head, gagging him and making it difficult to even breath. Aside from the headache, his chest was also sore and he felt as if his face was bruised.

He didn’t, despite the panic he felt at waking, lift his head or open his eyes. He remained still instead and focused on breathing slowly. He could hear someone conversing quietly in khuzdul and lamented his lack of knowledge on the language violently.

“He’s awake.” An eerily calm, and quiet voice, dark and cold, spoke, shattering the relative quiet and making Bilbo’s heart pound. “Lift your head, child of the Shire.”

He took another deep breath, trying to fill his lungs and ease the pain in his head. It did very little to help, but he managed to lift his head and open his eyes. It took a few blinks to bring the room in focus, and once it was, he wished it hadn’t.

The room itself wasn’t much, stone walls, stone floor, a few chairs for furniture and no door in his view. There were four dwarves in front of him, a female dressed in a rather revealing outfit, the servant who had led him to the room he was abducted from, a dwarf guard in full, ceremonial armor which marked him as one of the royal guards, and one who was dressed in black with a red hood and scarf covering his face. The lady and servant were sitting while the other two were standing. The guard was the only one with a visible weapon. It was mattock, much like Bofur used, and there was an axe strapped to his side.

He glared, fighting against the panic that was making his skin tingle. His heart was rabbiting in his chest, off rhythm and frightened. He'd known he would have to face the plotters. Nori had made that fairly obvious with his use of the word 'distraction' but he hadn't expected to be kidnapped alone. It had never even occurred to him that they would try and take him in a room crawling with guards. They had played him well. They'd taken advantage of his distracted state.

Thorin would be fit to kill. The others would blame themselves, and Dwalin would probably further injure himself in an attempt to get free of Oin's restraint.

“This is the consort? He’s so… small.” The servant noted, a frown on his face. “Surely Thorin has better taste.”

“I don’t know. He’s kind of cute, in an exotic way. Also, he’s not small. I noticed when I was tying him up.” The lady flicked a few strands of hair out of her eyes and winked lewdly at Bilbo. It made his skin crawl and his stomach tie itself in even more of a worried knot.

“Stop talking!” A familiar voice snapped from behind the guard's helmet. “We haven’t much time. The King and Prince will have the kingdom crawling with guards by now!”

“Calm yourself,” the female purred. She leaned forward, probably trying for seductive but landing closer to creepy in Bilbo’s opinion, “that’s why I’m here.” She turned her smile from the guard to the cloaked dwarf. "No one will bother us after I'm through."

“And you are going to be very little use when there is more than one asking questions.”

"You're not terribly exciting, are you? Two is hardly a challenge."

“What do you want, Urmûn?” The servant asked, shaking his head at the lady.

Bilbo’s heart gave a very hard thump, and then stopped for at least two beats. He stopped breathing but didn’t reveal his shock or fear in any other manner. He pictured Thorin in his mind and tried to mimic the dwarf’s enviable even expression while his mind flailed.

“To make him talk.” The words were low and menacing. They made Bilbo’s skin feel as if he had just been dunked into an icy lake.

He had no idea how to handle this.  His body felt strange, as if it wasn’t actually his own, and everything they were saying felt like something he’d have heard in a story. Something that wasn’t happening to him-couldn’t happen to him. “He has information I require.”

“You mean our dolt of a prince actually told him-”

“They’re betrothed, and don’t let his simple appearance fool you. The hobbit is cunning and skilled with his tongue.”

The guard stepped towards Bilbo, the mattock set aside and a dagger replacing it in his hands. His eyes were hateful and narrowed, and that was all that Bilbo could see of his face around the helmet. “He lured the one I love to his death. He believed them to be friends, and he was betrayed.”

What? He hadn’t hurt anyone. The only people he had associated with on any level were in the company, and none of them were dead. Dwalin had been injured, Nori as well. Bofur was accounted for, though Bilbo had no idea how the dwarf was.

He wanted to be worried about him, but he couldn't feel much of anything past the panic swirling around him. It ran over his skin like the first strike of lightning on a clear day, dangerous and consuming. Nothing else could be focused on. Fear had made it far more potent, and a terrible certainty that he was not going to leave this room.

The guard stepped closer still and pointed the dagger at Bilbo before lifting it and dragging it against his cheek. It caught at his skin, stinging and making his pulse spike. He glared up at the dwarf, defiant even if it felt like his body was going to burst from fear. “So we will make him talk.” The knife came down sharply, slicing him and the gag in one swoop. He wasn’t able to stop himself from flinching at the pain.

Bilbo spat at the dwarf. He was certain it was something Thorin would do. Dwalin and Nori as well. He was certain the three of them had been in this sort of situation at least once.

The guard's hand shot back with a shake and grunt. The lady laughed, shrilly, and the servant grumbled something. Urmûn didn't make any reaction. The hand clutching the dagger came back around and slapped him, hard enough that his head snapped to the side. Pain flared through his cheek and he ended up biting his tongue. He could taste blood in his mouth but he didn't give any indication of hurt besides a wince.

"You will learn respect, dog." The guard snarled before bending down so his head was next to Bilbo's ear. "And what true loyalty is." Something was pressed against his leg for a moment, slipped between his hand and leg, hidden and held there by his bonds. It was smooth and flat.

The guard pulled back sharply and abruptly, his grey eyes locking on Bilbo for an impossibly long moment before he gave a subtle wink and rage was back on his face. The guard then stepped back by Urmûn's side.

"Come on then." Urmûn snapped. "Tala, Kemar. To your stations. Froir will keep me company."

Bilbo's heart gave a strange thump at the familiar name. He tried to understand what was going on. The object under his hand was cool but was warming at his body heat. The edge of it felt thin, sharp even.

"Save the last bit of fun for us?" Tala purred as she stood up. She glided across the floor until she was behind Bilbo's chair. She leaned over the back of it, pressing her cheek against his and crossing her arms over his chest in what was meant to be a seductive embrace but turned Bilbo's stomach with fear. She smelt of lavender. Terribly fitting.

The servant strode towards the door without looking back. Tala gave Bilbo's ear a nip and joined him at the door.

"Now we can get down to business." Urmûn stepped forward as he spoke. "I have been hired by a cousin of the king to make certain that none of Thrain's marred line ascends to the throne. I had intended to let you live." He pulled a curved knife from his belt and considered it in the torchlight. "It is always so much sweeter to leave someone behind to mourn the loss of someone. I did as much to Thrain, and was rewarded with the hardening of Thorin's heart as well." His eyes darted to Bilbo's, malicious. He couldn't believe what he was hearing, and it made rage unlike anything he had ever felt stir to life in his chest. "I do not believe you could truly bear a child, but I will take no risk. Thorin and his heir, imaginary or not, will meet an end."

“Frerís?” Bilbo asked, the name strange on his tongue. He had never actually spoken her name. He’d only ever heard Thorin murmur it quietly in the dark. His mother was not something he ever spoke about easily. He didn’t feel like he could give her the proper respect she deserved.

He always imagined she would get on well with his mother. He could imagine them gardening with Yavanna in Mandos’ halls.

“You killed her?” He had never asked about her death. He knew only that it had happened in Erebor, and that there had been fire involved.

“That was how I earned my first nickname.” The dwarf said, his eyes glittering with malice. “Urnâ.”

“He doesn’t speak khuzdul.” There was a strange quality to the guard’s tone… something familiar. “It means ‘burner.’”

Bilbo had told Thorin that he prefered peace. He had even argued with the dwarf when asked if they should not hurt someone who had injured them.  In his very core he adored peace, it was literally woven into what he was.

If he’d had a weapon, he was fairly certain he would have stabbed the dwarf in front of him. He could see the tears in Thorin’s eyes from nightmares of his mother’s death, and see his own mother’s last smile as she succumbed to the illness. “It was a handsome sum, and the first killing that truly made me who I am.”

“A vile, treacherous, hideous worm?” He snarled, unable to keep himself quiet. He thrashed against the bonds that held him, needing to be free, needing to tear and _hurt_. The fear was gone, replaced by hate and anger.

“You were right, Froir!” Urmûn laughed. “He has spirit! I can see why our prince admires him.” The dwarf stepped closer with a tilted hair, not caring that Bilbo was rocking the chair in his need to break free. “I wonder what else the prince was right about.” His foot shout out suddenly and kicked the chair leg. He was tipped back and the chair landed on the floor with a loud crash that made him jerk. His head rattled and he ended up biting his tongue hard enough that he tasted blood. Something cut into his wrist and he clenched his eyes against the pain. Urmûn peered down at him, eyes narrowed.

“Do you think he screams?”

The guard didn’t make any reply, and Bilbo found his heart tripping in his chest, rage and panic twisting into a dangerous mix. Stars danced in his vision and he was utterly certain he’d just gotten concussed.

“I think I could make him.” Urmûn stepped closer and straddled the chair. Bilbo wished he could have moved something so he could knock the dwarf down. He flexed his fingers and felt something prick his fingertip.

The guard had slipped him a knife? He brought his hand down and used his fingers to move it over, not caring that it made them bleed. The blade pressed against the rope while he glared up at the dwarf.

“Your utter best would be inadequate.”  He flicked his eyes over the dwarf, feeling reckless and desperate as he rolled his hand and cut at the rope. “You’re no where _near_ as impressive as Thorin.”

The murderer’s eyes flashed with anger. “Insolent pig! I should have shot you sooner! Then I wouldn’t have simply hit your idiot guard!”

Bofur! He needed to see the dwarf desperately, but there was no way to. He twisted his hand sharply, and the rope finally gave way under the dagger right as the guard surged forward. He grasped Urmûn by his shoulder and shove his other hand up against his back sharply. The dwarf gasped, a horrible gurgling sound and slumped back against him.

“It is only because he is alive that I am allowing you to die _this_ painlessly.” The guard snarled, his voice low and wild with anger. It made Bilbo’s own chest vibrate with fear and he frantically sawed at the rope on his other hand. The guard dumped Urmûn’s body to the side in a careless heap and tugged Bilbo’s chair back upright.

“Should have known you’d have no idea how to handle a knife. Dwalin can be utterly useless.” The guard’s hands dropped to the rope that held his feet in place.

“What?”

“Oh,” The dwarf sat back and tugged the helmet off. Red hair slid out of it, and bright eyes greeted him with a mischievous smile. “Sorry about the slap. Had to sell my cover.”

“Nori.”

“In the flesh.” He resumed his work on the bonds around Bilbo’s feet. It was extremely hard to make his lungs work suddenly. He glanced at Urmûn’s still body, frowning. “Probably shouldn’t have done that, but…”

“Bofur.” Nori’s eyes darted to his, cold with subdued anger. “Is he alright?”

“I caught up with him in the passage before I joined this lot. They didn’t even notice my eyes weren’t green. He’ll have trouble walking for a while, but he’s fine. It took everything I had not to stab that worm when I found him.”

Bilbo’s feet were finally free and he used his knife to get rid of the final knot holding him to the chair. Nori braced him with a hand on his shoulder. “Are you dizzy at all?”

“Nauseous.”

“Igbit.” Nori grumbled, shaking his head. “Concussion. We’ll have to get Oin, but -”

“It can wait. What do we need to do now? They’re after -”

“Can you stand?”

“Yes.” Nori gave his head an approving nod and stood up. He tugged a vambrace off and passed it to Bilbo. “Good. Here’s the plan. You are going to be a ‘guard’ and I’m going to be Urmûn. We’re going to go to Dain and get him to confess to conspiracy in front of the king.”

-[]-[]-[]-

The armor was probably the most uncomfortable thing he had ever worn, and the heaviest. He could hardly move in it. Thankfully, the dwarf’s feet were large. He just managed to shove his own feet into the things.

“Hurry up now,” Nori ordered as he ducked behind another statute. “We have to reach the throne room before Dain does. Thrain will be in there and Dain will know that because he Thrain is the most predictable dwarf in Middle Earth. Thorin will be out searching for you. Which is good for us, because he'd probably have Thrain's throat otherwise.” Bilbo knelt at his side and they waited for a moment before dashing to another one.

It was disconcerting how much Nori looked like the worm in his disguise. “Bifur and Dori should have Tala and Kemar by now.”

“They should?” His heart jumped in his chest as he slipped after Nori, no where near as silent.  

“Yep. I marked them with a bloom from the Judas tree so they’d spot him easily.” Bilbo’s head snapped towards Nori. The spy’s smile was quick and toothy. “You told Bifur a lot about what flowers symbolized in the Shire.”

It was on the edge of disturbing how very much Nori knew that he hadn’t actually been present for. He’d apparently spied on Bilbo for rather a long while. He didn’t say anything for a moment but followed dutifully until they ducked behind a statue of a dwarf that had a little resemblance to Thorin outside of the throne room.

“And that will work?” Nori’s nod was quick and certain.

“Yeah. They’re looking for a sign from me. Bifur may be crazy, but he’s smart. It will also make Dori suspect you’re alright and with me. Thorin will be less inclined to go on a bloody rampage that way. He's probably already yelled himself hoarse. I don't imagine your disappearance has gone over well. You do know we told you to stay with us for a reason, right?”

Bilbo tried not to glare. It had been a horrible mistake of his, but he hadn't been raised in his world. This sort of thing didn't happen to normal people. They didn't have to question whether every single person was out to get them.

Nori stared at the hall for a moment. “We’ve only got a minute or so before everything clicks into place. Are you ready? I can’t promise it won’t get very ugly.”

“I’m going to do whatever it takes.” Nori gave his head another sharp nod and turned to look at the hall. There were guards milling about, no one looked terribly certain of what was going on.

“So here’s the plan. We’re going to walk right past them without pausing. Stand tall and meet their eyes if they look at you. If anyone asks anything-which is very unlikely- say this, and only this: ‘Melhekh athùhôrhi Guchir mukhuhâl.’” (The king has called for his spy)

He practiced a few times, trying to make it sound natural. “Ready?” A quick nod and they were standing up. Nori kept a brisk pace that Bilbo matched. His heart pounded as they walked past the guards until they were pushing open the door to the throne room. Nori shut it immediately behind them, locking it and taking a sharp right down a smaller path that lead to another chamber. It felt far too easy. He could understand now why everyone had been so insistent about him staying alert.

Then, with a: “Follow my lead.” they were going inside. The door clicked shut behind them and Bilbo exhaled.

Thrain was seated at a table in full royal regalia. His crown was massive and looked utterly painful to wear. He had a cloak of velvet lined with fur that made him look like a fierce warrior, something Bilbo knew he had been in years long past. Something that Thorin had in common with him.

Though Thorin had no need of the extra regalia to look fierce. He simply needed to stand and look to make someone else shudder in their boots.

“Hail to The King Under the Mountain, may your beard grow ever long. Hail also, Dain, Lord of the Iron Hills,” Nori said, bowing stiffly at the waist while Bilbo looked at the other dwarf that was with him. The only guard in the room was at the far corner, seen but not heard. The dwarf sitting next to Thrain was nearly as old as him, with a smaller crown and a stern look that spoke of a hard life.

They’d arrived after Dain then. He hoped that didn't mess their plan up.

“Who are you?” Thrain demanded, instantly standing. The guard behind him surged forward and Bilbo had a wonderful moment where he thought they had an ally, only for the dwarf to bring a knife to the king’s throat and force him back into the chair. Bilbo, without much thought, went to the other side of the king and placed his gauntlet covered hand on the dwarf’s shoulder.

He hadn’t planned for their to be another of Urmûn’s dwarves here.

Nori strode forward and hopped up onto the table in a move that was smooth and impressive. “I am Urmûn previously know as Urnâ.” He bowed low, mockingly and straightened with a broad sweep of his hands, “and I have come to speak with your 1st cousins once removed.”

“Urnâ?” Thrain’s voice was odd, hollow and automatic. Like he was unaware that he was speaking. Bilbo tightened his hand to keep Thrain from moving.

“You’ve heard of me then.”

“What do you want, traitor?” Dain spat, his eyes wide. Nori turned to him with an easy twist, looking utterly comfortable on top of the table.

“To revisit the amount I’m to be paid.”

Thrain went utterly rigid under Bilbo’s hand. Dain’s eyes darted to him before landing on Nori again. It was deviously clever as far as negotiations went. Thrain would now be aware that Dain had ordered the kill, which meant that he’d _have_ to pay Nori more, or risk his own life.

It occurred to Bilbo, for the very first time, that Nori was  _terrifying._ He was not someone you would ever want against you. He was brilliant, and knew how to find information, and how to make others do what he wanted. He was utterly manipulative, and could, as he'd just proven on several levels, get anywhere he wished.

The spymaster sauntered over to Dain and knelt on the table in front of him so they were very nearly level, his eyes dancing with an evil joy that was enough to make Bilbo’s skin crawl. “You see, I’ve decided it isn’t enough. You’ve assigned me three marks today, to accompany the other three marks I’m supposed to take care of next month, two of which I’ve eliminated today. The third will be three times the price, or I’ll order my guards here to slit your throat instead. Seeing as I’ll be tripling their cuts, I’m certain they’ll be willing.”

"My son?" Thrain murmured, his voice lost and confused. Bilbo’s hand  tightened in its grip, but the tremble wasn’t visible through the metal of his gauntlet, thankfully. Dis, Fili, and Kili had been given marks as well?

The other guard shifted on his feet. Bilbo eyed him carefully and noted that he was reaching for another knife he had hidden in his braies.

“I haven’t yet paid you. You can’t collect anything if-”

Three things happened far too fast for Bilbo to process _and_ understand. Thrain surged forward with a snarl of that sounded like a wild beast, the traitor guard drew the other knife from his side and lunged for the king, and Dain reached for Nori.

Bilbo didn’t think, his body simply rushed forward, shoving at the traitor.

Thorin had made that same noise every time he woke from a nightmare. Every time he dreamed that he held Bilbo’s broken and bleeding body. His entire body lit with panic and determination at the sound of it. In that moment, there was nothing but the need to protect.

He couldn’t really keep up much with what happened. He simply collided into the dwarf’s side and hit the floor with a clatter of ill-fitting armor. The dwarf over turned him immediately and straddled his waist with a wild stare that made Bilbo’s heart thump. His arms were pinned to his side and he was fairly certain his breastplate was half off.

“Who are you?” The dwarf that had just over turned him snarled. His helmet was shoved off and he felt his curls fall across his face damningly. The dwarf glared and brought the knife up in a flash. He brought it down hard on Bilbo’s breastplate-less chest, and he gasped in shock. The dwarf’s grip loosened for a moment, and Bilbo freed his hand-still unable to breath-and went for the only thing he could do.

He grabbed his fallen helmet and brought it around to hit the dwarf’s bare head. It made an absolutely sickening cracking noise, and then the dwarf fell on top of him, knocking what little air he had away.

He blinked and found that it was utterly impossible to keep his eyes open. He gasped in vain as pain flourished through his chest, and remembered nothing more.

-[]-[]-[]-

He woke up on soft sheets with a warm fur draped over his shoulders. His chest was aching and his head throbbed dully. He could smell the harsh scent of medicine and something wet was wrapped around his chest. Thorin was sitting beside him, unaware that he had woken. His pale eyes were locked on something in his hands.

It took Bilbo two blinks to bring it into focus, and he felt something in his heart chip at the sight of the blue bloom.

“Thorin,” he couldn’t help the soft way the name fell from his lips. The dwarf’s head snapped towards him, eyes scanning him swiftly.

“You are awake.” He nodded his head and met Thorin’s eyes. He couldn't recall ever seeing so much worry in the blue orbs.

“Everything turned out okay?” Thorin nodded and cupped Bilbo’s cheek with his left hand. He dipped down until their foreheads were pressed together and held the pose for an intimate moment.

“Thanks to your aid. Nori stopped my father from murdering my cousin, and revealed what had happened. You stopped the traitor before he could interfere. My father will have him hanged from the battlements tomorrow, along with the other two survivors.” A loss was pressed to his forehead and Thorin straightened. "I should have preferred Nori inform me of his plans to use you to gather Urmun's gang."

He had a feeling Nori had lied about that bit for Bilbo's sake... There would be an uncomfortable talk later. 

But it would be later. For now, he would focus on other things. “Dain?”

“Will be tried. I do not know what my father will do.” He dipped his head, hiding his eyes behind his hair. Bilbo let him have the moment to mourn while his own heart broke for the dwarf he loved. No one should have such a life. His father had been proven to not be trying to kill him, only to discover that his cousin had.

“How are Dwalin and Bofur fairing?” Thorin’s eyes returned to him, soft and full of unspoken sorrows. His hand brushed against Bilbo’s arm, his fingers trailing over the fabric that covered the scar of the arrow.

“Oin has confined them to bed rest. Like you.” The hand on his arm dropped to hover over his chest. “You’ve a terrible bruise, and a lump on the back of your head. The mithril saved you from bleeding out by the blade, but the pressure cracked your rib.”

Not too bad at all. At least his captor hadn't thought to check for armor. That was probably Nori's doing. He would have a lot to thank the dwarf for. “My father has given me the day off as well. He wants to have a feast in honor of your bravery before we leave.” He stared at Bilbo for a moment, his eyes soft. “I believe he has grown fond of you.”

He was fairly certain it was Thorin he was fond of. He would never forget the way the king had said his sons name when he thought him dead by the traitors hands. Thorin wouldn't believe it now, but his father did care somewhere in his mad heart.

“Perhaps that’s just a Durin trait. No one seemed to like me that much at first meeting.” 

“That is not true.” Thorin’s thumb brushed the skin under his eyes in a soothing stroke. “I wanted to see if you were the type to be insulted and leave. I was testing your determination. You were fascinating to me from the moment I came across you in the garden.”

“Really?”

“Much to my personal annoyance. I felt such a thing would be a weakness. I could not allow myself to find anyone fascinating.”

“Well I’m happy you did.” He stretched a little, testing out sore limbs. Nothing ached too badly outside of his chest. He could still feel the mail slipping against his skin. He nodded towards the flower Thorin was still holding. “Why the forget-me-not?”

“My mother adored this flower above all other. It was used as a decoration in all beads that my father gave her.” Thorin’s voice was quiet, a mere shadow of a sound. “Even now it decorates her tomb.” Thorin’s eyes drifted to Bilbo, a familiar sadness in them mixed with deep affection.

“Is that why you asked for me to plant them? Respect?”

Thorin shook his head and stretched out next to Bilbo. He passed him the flower and ran thick fingers through his curls. “No, it was love. The first memory I have of her is in that garden. They decorated her hair. Father had woven them in dozens of braids. She smelt like them while she sang to me.”

“They match your eyes.” He rolled the flower between his fingers, studying its color. “That was the first thing I noticed about you by the fire.” He smiled, remembering how much they had captivated him even then. “I thought a dwarf would be insulted by that description.”

“Do they really?”

Bilbo glanced up and found Thorin staring at the flower with a fragile look. He wanted to wrap his hands around Thorin and protect him from the world, like he would a bloom. “Yes. A permanent piece of your mother.” He brushed his finger against Thorin’s cheek and tucked the bloom in the braid that marked him as a member of the line of Durin. “It’s a useful flower as well. It can help with breathing and is good for wounds.” he smiled at Thorin. “Beautiful and useful.”

He curled up close and let Thorin find comfort in holding him despite the complaint of his chest. He could already feel himself falling back into a slumber from the dwarf’s soothing warmth. There would be a lot to talk about later. Thorin had been betrayed by yet another dwarf who should have been loyal to him, and learned a terrible truth about his mother. There would be more nightmares, and, eventually, a long discussion about Bilbo’s near kidnapping.

For now, they’d just rest.  


	31. Chapter 31

Bilbo was dressed as he hadn’t been for any other feast. He was dressed as the prince-consort. His hair had been tended till it shone, his clothes were a fine silk, his cloak from expensive fur, and his jewelry had been doubled.

He also had a crown in the same style as Thorin, though far less heavy.

He was still seated at the head table but it was no where near as painful. Thrain’s comments, while short, were no longer cruel.

Thorin kept his hand on his knee through the entire meal until they retired to the ballroom afterwards.

The story of what happened was being told everywhere, though it had dramatically changed. It sounded like they had infiltrated it years ago, and weeded out hundreds of dwarves by the time they reached the heart of the plot. A grand spy (Nori) had then taken over the role of the evil assassin while Bilbo had dismantled several of the guards. They’d then revealed the evil plans to their king who had avenged his long dead wife.

Thorin had come up with the story. It robbed him of the honor that should have rightfully been his, and gave it to Thrain instead. Nori had seen it spread quickly, and it had taken over the entire kingdom by the next day.

“Why give Thrain the honor?” Bilbo asked casually as he leaned against the rail on the balcony. The music was a little too loud for his still sensitive head. Nori was standing beside him, a considering frown seemingly permanently fixed on his face. Bilbo wasn’t even sure why they were standing together when both their dwarves were inside.

“Because he needed it. This… This was a messy affair, and that was the best way to clean it up.” Bofur’s laugh rang out, mingled with Ori’s, behind them and Nori seemed to stand a little taller. “Besides, I should be asking you that. You don’t even like Thrain but you risked your life for him.”

“He’s Thorin’s father.” Bilbo answered with a shrug, not needing to really say anything else. There was a quiet, unspoken companionship between them now. Something that wasn’t quite able to be described. Something he shared with each of the dwarves in Thorin’s company. A loyalty that extended well beyond reason or recommendation. Something timeless. It was born from loyalty and hardships. “Technically, you don’t like Thrain either.” He pointed out after a long moment of silence. Nori nodded and glanced at Thorin who was speaking with Oin. He had his hand on the dwarf’s shoulder and was leaning in close so that he didn’t have to shout every word and draw attention to them. A simple kindness that spoke volumes about Thorin’s heart.

“Not in the least. I love Thorin though, and the gold haired dwarrowdame that I can see in him. She was the first to offer us lodging, you know. She let us, all of us, use her home. She didn’t care about station or things like that. I can see her in him.” He stared back at the city expanding out beneath them. “He’ll make a fine king. It won’t be long before he claims the throne now.”

“He’ll never usurp Thrain.”

“He won’t have to.” Nori assured with a quiet voice. “Thrain will give it to him. He’s old and tired. After everything that has come out… It’s all that is really left. Mad he may be, but he doesn’t want this. The people think he’s honorable, but the council knows what really happened. He’ll have to fight them on every turn to keep his throne. He was sloppy to have missed such a large conspiracy for so long. I suspect that his council will give him a fine estate to live out what’s left of his weary life. He might go to the Blue Mountains. Dis is there. Maybe he’ll find the healing he’s long needed.” There was a long quiet moment that Bilbo let himself get lost in. “I don’t suspect it will be more than a year before we’re back for a coronation.”

It was terribly sad in a way. He could see the king behind them, watching his son with shuttered eyes. There was terrible damage there that _couldn’t_ be repaired. Madness or sorrow, the cause didn’t matter. Thrain had made himself a terrible prison of solitude, and it would keep him locked away for the remainder of his life. He’d pushed his children away and embraced his gold and his throne instead. He had trusted the wrong people and was now going to be driven from his home.

Bilbo couldn’t help but look at Thorin and very nearly understand Thrain’s heart. If he lost his dwarf… well, it would take a miracle to stop him from becoming like his own father. 

Nori’s hand was a very light touch on his arm, barely a hint of being there. A soft reminder that penetrated the ache he shouldn’t feel. He hadn’t lost Thorin.

And if he did, he’d still have a family. Thrain had clearly forgotten he had a family. Maybe… maybe Nori was right. It might be good for him to join Dis.

Bilbo hadn’t been able to heal his father, but she might be able to heal hers. It was something she could try regardless.

Also, for the very first time since he'd lost him, Bilbo thought of his father without grimacing. He thought of his father and imagined he could forgive him someday. They were all marred by something, Bilbo didn't want to hold onto anything else... He'd seen enough hate and hurt in Erebor. He needed to get rid of it in his own life.

“I’ll speak with you later, sir.” Nori’s smile was wide, trusting, and then the dwarf was sliding between other dwarves in the hall, disappearing among them like smoke on the wind.

Thorin was coming towards him so he didn’t really mind. He stretched his hand out and Thorin claimed it in his glove-covered one with a small smile. He wrapped his fingers around Thorin’s hand and together they turned towards their city.

-[]-[]-[]-

Returning to Oakenshield manor meant more feast and reunions. He was fine with the reunions, but annoyed at the length of the feast.

Especially when there was a promise of a far more pleasurable reunion on the horizon.

“It will be tonight, if that pleases you.” Thorin had murmured under his breath, his nose brushing against Bilbo’s ear in a way that should not have been so utterly seductive. He had cornered him that morning while they cleaned up their camp for the final time. He’d had no idea what the dwarf was referring to, but he loved the feel of him so close and real. “I should like to do it there. To have you and to be had by you in a place that used to be plagued by memories and sorrows.” His hand trailed up Bilbo’s arm, leaving goosebumps in it’s wake while he continued. “You have filled my home with a light I thought it could not have again. It is only right that I should allow myself to be completely yours there.”

He’d stood rigidly for a moment before finding Thorin’s hand and gripping it as tightly as he could. He’d managed to give a nod, and had been unable to focus on anything else during the entire day.

Thorin, annoying dwarf that he was, had known. He’d laughed and talked with countless dwarves at the feast while Bilbo watched.

When the feast _finally_ drew to an end, he found himself quite eager to aid in arranging for everything to be cleared away. His prince had slipped away with a smirk and Bilbo became utterly, and hopelessly, distracted. It took him very little time to decide that he would simply give the night to everyone. Tomorrow would be busy anyway, they might as well all enjoy the night.

He dismissed the dwarves from duty till the next day and bid Dwalin goodnight with a small smile that had the dwarf inclining his head in irritating understanding. He was headed towards Ori's room though, so Bilbo smiled right back. He'd noticed the presence of a betrothal braid in the dwarf's hair.

He then, _finally_ , went into the bedroom and strode across the floor with quick, light steps as he pulled his tunic off and slipped his breeches off. The remainder of his clothes joined Thorin’s, which were already on the floor in a careless heap. He pulled the bed curtains open and took a moment to let his eyes take in the sight that greeted him. Thorin sprawled out across the bed, his hair a dark, alluring cascade, braids undone. His chest rising and falling steadily, his left hand clutching the bedsheets while his right hand rested just above his hip bone. One leg was stretched straight out but the other was bent at the knee, and the entire thing made one of the most delectable things he had ever seen.

He slipped onto the bed without really realizing he did so and tugged the curtain’s closed behind himself. It made it feel like they had a safe little cocoon, separated from the world and were in no danger from anyone. The light from the fire glew through the thick material of the curtain, and bits of it shined through the cracks, decorating Thorin’s skin with it’s warm light.

“I did not think,” Thorin murmured, his voice a deep note that Bilbo had to strain to hear, “dinner would ever end.”

“If one more dwarf had flirted with you, I was going to make use of the knife that Nori had gifted me.” He pressed his palm against Thorin’s bent leg, stroking upward and letting it come to a rest on Thorin’s knee.

“I could feel your eyes on me anytime they drew near.” Thorin’s right hand settled on his thigh, pulling gently. “Such fire in your eyes.”

“And yet you still smiled at their comments.” Thorin’s lips lifted in an undeniable smirk, one that made something hot flare in Bilbo’s stomach.”You- you _lump_! You liked my stares!”

“Did you not notice my gazes?”

“No.” Thorin shook his head, annoyingly amused.

“It is a wonder you did not fall into the worm’s traps, so oblivious are you.”

“I had a lot of others to help me. I was too busy fuming to notice much of anything anyway.” He moved forward, comfortably between Thorin’s legs, and placed his arms on either side of Thorin’s chest. He rested his weight on his forearms so he was hovering over the dwarf. It was amazing to hear him very nearly teasing about the attack. They had had to suffer through several dark nights. He’d had to hold Thorin’s head into his shoulder while the dwarf muffled his shouts into his skin. He’d held him while he trembled in his sleep, unable to speak of what terrified him.

Thorin’s hand settled over the curve of his arse, holding him in place and kneading the flesh there. “Perhaps we shall have another dance now that we have returned home. As I understand, Nur is quite the gifted dancer.”

Bilbo growled and slipped his hands under Thorin’s shoulders to grab at his head. He placed his legs on either side of the dwarf’s chest and caged him in in that manner. Thorin’ could easily throw him over, but it was the closest he could get to covering him. He stole Thorin’s lips, nipping on the bottom one and then claiming his mouth with strokes of his tongue while he scratched at Thorin’s scalp. The dwarf responded positively, as he always did. “If,” Bilbo warned with another bite that he soothed with a lick, “You even think of doing so, I will find Froir.” Bilbo grabbed Thorin’s lip and pulled, releasing it with a wicked grin and a roll of his hips. “I’ve been told I’m quite an exotic catch.”

Thorin’s gaze was full of warning, his eyes several shades darker from arousal. "Do not test me." He warned. "There was a reason Ori didn't want to stay with you whenever I was present."

Bilbo paused, his eyebrow raising. That he hadn't known. "Really? Like when you walked me to my room?" Thorin nodded, mischief in his eyes. "No matter he looked like a scared rabbit. Didn't you know he only had eyes for Dwalin?"

"No. I simply noticed that he was constantly at your side."

"And Dwalin was constantly at yours. We could pine together." He snorted and gave his head a little shake. No matter Thorin had always seemed to be glaring. He released Thorin’s head and pushed himself up, staring down at the dwarf. There was so much to see and touch… He wasn’t certain where he wanted to start.

“Are you simply going to stare? Or did you plan to do something? You mentioned a thorough debauching earlier.” Bilbo met his eyes again, allowing his desire to show through his own, and felt a surge of victory at the increased speed of Thorin’s breathing. He dipped down and licked at Thorin’s throat, tasting the skin there before picking a spot on his collar bone to mark. Thorin’s skin, dwarf skin in general, was thicker than hobbit skin, and could take a much harder touch. The skin was warm, slightly salty and with a mild tang of soap from the pre-feast bath. The skin on Thorin’s side was smooth, save for a few rough scars, and so warm.

"Bilbo," Thorin murmured, breathing fast already. Bilbo curled his fingers over the sharp cut of Thorin’s hip, pushing his thigh between the dwarf’s legs and moving up to swallow the gaps his sudden pressure had pulled out of Thorin. The dwarf’s hands were restless on Bilbo’s skin, unable to settle and unwilling to stop touching. Thorin wanted badly, and Bilbo could actually taste it with every kiss, every rough brush of their lips and greedy sweep of tongue. He kept it as slow as he could, refusing to let Thorin hurry him along. He sucked on Thorin’s tongue slow and easy as he slid his hands down the dwarf’s chest to rest on his muscled belly for a moment, and then back up his side. He flicked his fingernail over Thorin’s nipple and felt the dwarf’s resulting shudder everywhere, along with the tightening of his hand in Bilbo’s hair.

"I've been thinking about this all day," Bilbo breathed against the tempting shell of Thorin’s ear. He licked gently against it before catching the lobe between his teeth and tugging. Thorin’s hips moved needily against his thigh, and Bilbo wasn’t certain the dwarf was even aware of the movement.

Bilbo leaned forward and took Thorin’s mouth in a hard kiss. He thought of all that they had been through, every moment he’d been frustrated, angry, wanting… He thought of it all and funneled it into the motions of his lips, trying to press it into every inch that they were touching. Tried to relay through that contact what he could never seem to find the words for.

Thorin tried to take it over but Bilbo grabbed the hair on the back of his head and tugged before becoming bolder with the kiss. It turned searing, possessive in a way that Bilbo had never attempted and Thorin backed off, allowing him to take the lead and do whatever he wished. He groaned hard enough that Bilbo’s chest rumbled, and opened his mouth to Bilbo. He tugged him nearer as tongue and teeth and lips met endlessly.

Thorin ended up panting against his neck when he finally pulled back for breath, and the dwarf was clutching at his shoulders without checking his strength.

They’d barely begun and he could already see a glimpse of the dwarf losing reservation. He would break all the barriers down before they were through.

He let him stay there for a moment, regaining his breath, before he shoved at Thorin so that he was pressed back against the pillow with wide eyes and swollen lips.

He went lower, taking his time as he learned Thorin, taking in the creamy skin that so rarely saw sunlight (they would still sunbathe in the garden someday soon), muscles strong and thick, faint scars that he memorized with his tongue. His name turned into a pleading chant on Thorin’s tongue, faint and breathy. He explored the dwarf’s ribs and waist, the skin of his navel and the stretch of his hip

“The oil?” He inquired while he sucked a bruise on the tight skin of Thorin’s hip. A spot he would feel with every movement. He had his hand wrapped around Thorin’s cock and was stroking it slowly regardless of how much Thorin tried to thrust into his fist faster.

The hand that wasn’t gripping the back of Bilbo’s head, groped around on the cover unseeingly before pressing something against Bilbo’s shoulder. He took the offered bottle and uncapped it. He’d done this to himself a grand total of three times, and had it done seven times. He was learning quite well how the whole process went. Thorin had made their first time unforgettable for him, and he was very much determined to do the same.

He slicked his fingers up while he moved around so that he was settled between Thorin’s spread legs. He put the bottle away, making certain it was capped so they wouldn’t lose any of the oil, and brought his head down to the dark hair beside Thorin’s arousal. He brushed his nose against it, noting the tremble in Thorin’s legs. He pressed a slick fingertip against him and lifted his head to meet Thorin’s gaze for a long moment before lowering his mouth over the head of Thorin’s cock and breaching him with his finger.

Thorin’s head dropped back with a choked sound and his hips spasmed. Bilbo had thought enough to put a hand around Thorin’s cock, certain he wouldn’t be able to swallow him whole (yet) and incase Thorin thrusted a bit too eagerly. That didn’t happen and he allowed himself to relax and grow used to the taste and weight of Thorin in his mouth. It was sharp, like water from the sea, and strong, like the rest of Thorin’s skin. He kept his finger still as well. He gave the head a tentative lick, and then slid his mouth down while he pulled his finger out until only the tip remained. Thorin’s legs tensed on either side of his head, fighting to remain still. He slid back up and thrust his finger in again, and set that as a rhythm, slowly working Thorin open. He tried laving with his tongue, sucking and keeping his teeth away, memorizing what made Thorin shudder, shout, or groan.

His mind quieted while he worked, going to a strange place where he was only really aware of Thorin and the noises he made, the way his body moved at Bilbo’s ministrations, the way he arched to get closer. He could understand now why Thorin had turned so reverential the first time they did this.

It was a gift, one he would cherish to the day he died. No one else had ever done this and no other would ever do this.

By the time he was up to three fingers Thorin was panting and rambling mindlessly in khuzdul, his reserve gone. His Words echoed around in Bilbo’s head disjointedly, making his heart hammer and his arousal ache. The dwarf’s eyes were closed, his eyelashes long and dark against his flushed cheeks, and it was so _beautiful_. He could tell in that second that he would never forget this. It would come to him again at different moments, strike him anew and leave him breathless at the intimacy, the trust, and allure that was present.

Right now he needed Thorin to lose control, to completely relax his guard.

To really become Bilbo’s.

He curled his fingers upward and sucked, hollowing his cheeks as he lifted his head. Thorin cried out, and his hips jerked upward while his hand clutched at Bilbo’s curls convulsively.

He’d found it them.

“Bilbo! Nur tanakuh! Zatâgrîfuh zataghuruf. Zirekabikhuzh!” (Bilbo! Come to me now! Take me, please. No more torture!)

Other than his name, he had no idea what any of that meant. It was accompanied by a tug of his hair and another cry so he released Thorin with a fairly lewd pop.

“Sorry?”

“Stop. Teasing.” Thorin growled out, struggling up on his arms. Bilbo twitched his fingers and Thorin’s eyes rolled back a bit before he grit his teeth.

“If you were ready all you had to do was say so.”

“Then I am saying so.” He didn’t even wait until Bilbo had pulled his fingers free to spread the oil on his cock. His hips stuttered into the dwarf’s hand, not expecting the touch. Thorin’s responding grin was vicious so Bilbo had no choice but to bite the skin of his inner thigh while he shoved a pillow under the dwarf’s hips.

He grasped Thorin’s hand and twined their fingers together while he lined himself up. He met Thorin’s large, blue eyes and slid inside.

For a moment, the world simply faded away. There was nothing but Thorin and the air that crackled between them.

“Oh!” He gasped, feeling Thorin around him, tight, slick, and so warm. Thorin’s fingers tightened with his and he jerked, his hips lifting and pulling Bilbo even closer and deeper. He’d imagined this moment dozens of times, and he had never come close to the truth of it. It wasn’t just the indescribable feeling of being _in_ Thorin, pressed close and perfect, but that Thorin was truly letting Bilbo inside. He was completely bare, vulnerable for Bilbo and Bilbo alone.

He panted helplessly as Thorin’s hips shifted, and he seemed to relax around him, allowing him in. “Thorin-” He cut off with a whine and pulled back a little before his hips stuttered forward. Thorin gasped softly, his eyes so very large. He couldn’t help but shudder and thrust again.  Thorin’s free hand moved to grasp his shoulder, pulling Bilbo closer as his head pressed back into the pillow. He grunted and Bilbo thrust again, a little faster. Thorin’s blunt nails dragged down his back, sharply, making him gasp before the hand settled low on the curve of his back.

“Yes,” Thorin hissed, lifting his hips. Bilbo gripped him more tightly and thrust again, unable to stop himself. “More.” it was an order, and one Bilbo _had_ to obey. It felt like liquid fire was thundering down his spine to join in with the tight heat in his belly. Thorin moaned beneath him, open and everything he wanted.

He couldn’t keep up with time as they moved together, finding a rhythm that had Thorin making a noise between a whine and choke. He rambled, into Thorin’s skin, kissing and licking and sucking all that he could reach while he worked a hand between them. He was still slick from opening Thorin up, and he used it stroke Thorin until the dwarf was rambling brokenly in khuzdul between gasped breathes.

He loved when that happened. When Thorin lost track of everything and found himself incapable of remembering anything but his birth language.

He could feel Thorin cease up, and then the dwarf was throwing his head back and coming with a growl that was part Bilbo’s name and part desire. He could feel him grow tight from the inside out and Bilbo lost all semblance of a rhythm.

He moved quick and hard, needing the release he could almost feel as he studied Thorin with hungry eyes. The dwarf was beautiful in his pleasure, which was not a word he would ever use to describe Thorin out loud. Nothing else came even near to describing him though, and Bilbo’s chest positively ached with unspoken things.

When he finally came it seemed to last forever, and it felt like they were sealing a bond that would never be seeable, but would be obvious to the entire world. One that was solid and bright, shining and unbreakable. He could nearly feel it pulsing between them as he dropped his head to Thorin’s chest and gasped. He was collapsed there, utterly wrung out and incapable of moving. 

“How on earth do you manage to walk after that? I feel like a newborn foal.”

Thorin’s laugh was one of the most wonderful sounds in the world. And it was his to cherish until the day he died.

Whatever their future held.

 

-[]-[]-[]-

 _i carry your heart with me(i carry it in  
_ _my heart)i am never without it(anywhere  
_ _i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done  
_ _by only me is your doing, my darling)_

_i fear_  
 _no fate(for you are my fate, my sweet)i want_  
 _no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)_  
 _and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant_  
 _and whatever a sun will always sing is you_

here is the deepest secret nobody knows  
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud  
 _and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows_  
 _higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)_  
 _and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart_

_i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)_

_\-- E E Cummings_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for taking the time to read this mammoth work. You've all spoiled me beyond description. This has been an incredible experience to write. I've learned a lot, and found endless fun in writing this piece :D It went on a good deal longer than I intended but it was just such fun. It really allowed me to explore all the characters in my little universe, and become utterly comfortable in Bilbo's head. 
> 
> I've got another story in mind. A post BOFA that I'll be working on next. If any of you have any suggestions, let me know! I love getting prompts ;)


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